


Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars

by alpheratz



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Aviation, Family, M/M, Platonic Soulbond, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/pseuds/alpheratz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This story started with [a picture](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m50a0cBUCz1qiub7ho1_1280.jpg) of Mikey in an aviator helmet, and then I thought of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's account of flying a Toulouse - Dakar airmail route in the 1930s in his memoir _Wind, Sand, and Stars_. Certain scenes in this story, as well as most of the details of civil aviation of the time, are based on that book. The title comes from "Love," a poem by Matthew Dickman. 
> 
> Many thanks to jrho for an excellent beta and to the usual suspects for their help and encouragement. <3

Once they got past the Pyrénées, the current that had been carrying them evened out, and they coasted on perfectly smooth air the rest of the way. It supported the plane without a single shudder of resistance. The plane didn't complain, for once. The propeller whirred smooth and easy. They made well below normal time to Toulouse.

Mikey brought the plane down on the tarmac, stylishly rolling up right to the airport doors, and hopped out of the cockpit with one of the mail bags slung over his shoulder. The sun had come up an hour or two ago, and the air on the ground was crisp and still. With the engine shut off, it was so silent that already the resonating echo in Mikey's ears of the four-hour flight from Dakar was beginning to quiet. It was still cool, but it would be a warm day, Mikey thought, pleased.

Mikey pulled his goggles down around his neck and unbuckled and removed his helmet. His hair was sweaty, sticking to his forehead under the liner, and he brushed it aside, enjoying the feel of the cool air. Behind him, Frank banged open his door. "Don't just stand there," he said scratchily and coughed to clear his wind-chilled lungs. "Help me with the mail."

Theirs clearly wasn't the first flight to get in that morning because the usual porter on morning duty didn't have to be roused and was already approaching the plane with the mail cart. Slinging bags of correspondence around wasn't Mikey's strong suit, so he put the one he had with him onto the cart and watched Frank extract the rest of the bags from the mail compartment and toss them down. Frank took off his jacket halfway through, and Mikey looked away in the direction of the city instead. It was hazy, lost in the light mist rising up from the Garonne, but he was already on the ground. He didn't have to see it to feel the tug at his heart. He couldn't wait to get home.

Finally, the porter rolled the cart away, and Frank hopped down from the fuselage, landing hard on the concrete and cursing. "Nice steering, Way."

"Thanks for telling me where to go, Iero."

Mikey saw Frank grin out of the corner of his eye, softer than usual. They hadn't slept in almost eighteen hours, and the night flight adrenaline was wearing off.

"What time is it?" asked Mikey. "Please tell me I don't have to run to catch my bus."

Frank sighed. "Why don't you ever wear a watch? They should never have installed a chronometer on your plane. It makes you irresponsible.” Mikey made big eyes at him, and Frank sighed again. “It's a quarter past six. You'd have to run fast."

Mikey wrinkled his nose. "They should just extend the bus line here."

"What, to the tarmac?" Frank gave Mikey a little push and set off towards the doors of the airport building. Mikey followed a little behind, wincing at the stretch in his legs. He didn't understand how Frank could walk so fast after sitting twisted up in the cockpit for that long. "Maybe it could stop in your backyard, too."

"Gerard wouldn't like that. It would spoil the view."

"Oh, of course. My mistake."

It was a little warmer inside the building but also louder. It was after six, and the airline had officially opened for the day. There was a trickle of people, air and ground crew, headed towards the tarmac exit and a nascent din from the cafeteria. Mikey accepted airports as a necessary evil, but they weren’t what Mikey liked about flying. He itched to get home.

He and Frank were almost at the doors when a voice behind them called out Frank's name in an American accent. A Jersey accent. American wasn't uncommon in France these days, but Jersey Mikey didn't hear too often. Jersey was _home_.

Frank stopped abruptly, and Mikey ran into him, stumbling and grabbing onto Frank’s jacket.

"Sorry, Mikey. I think that's..." Frank looked around. Once Mikey regained his balance, he looked around, too, trying to see whatever Frank saw through the thickening stream of people in the corridors.

"Frank Iero?" called the voice again, and Frank suddenly beamed, a huge shining smile lighting up his face, and turned towards the corridor leading to the Aéropostale offices. “Frank!” There was a man there grinning back at Frank. Frizz under his helmet, worn aviator jacket. Eyepatch.

“Toro!” Frank yelled and launched himself at the man. Mikey hung back and watched them embrace. He’d only known Frank for a couple of years, but he’d seen him meet old friends many times, chance meetings with aviators in far-off airports, and he’d never seen Frank so happy before.

Frank pulled back after a moment and turned that blinding smile on Mikey. “You gotta meet my buddy here. Ray Toro, Mikey Way. Mikey’s my pilot most days.”

“Hi,” said Ray and shook Mikey’s hand. He had a nice smile, broad hands, and an easy charm.

“Ray’s Belleville, too, Mikes. We met flying mail from New York to Chicago in ’26."

“Always nice to hear someone from back home. What brings you here?” asked Mikey.

“Yeah, Toro," said Frank with a grin. "You still flying? And what happened to your eye? You didn't have that when I left."

Ray laughed a little. “I’m here because Frankie talked this place up in his letters, and as for this...” he touched the fabric over his eye. "That was a crash near Baltimore last year. Storm swept in out of nowhere, brought the plane down, and cracked the glass. We were otherwise fine, even got the mail out before the gas tank blew, but I don’t fly mail anymore.”

Mikey winced. Careers in aviation tended to be short. If he thought about it, he got nervous, and he felt enough of Gerard's secondhand anxiety before each takeoff. "I'm headed home," he said. "Nice to meet you, Ray. I assume you're flying out soon?"

"I'm here to stay," said Ray. "I’m engaged at the flight school now.”

“They let you teach rookies?” asked Frank. “You used to yell at them for getting anything wrong.”

Ray punched Frank in the shoulder, and Frank giggled. “I don’t yell. Much.”

"If you’re staying, perhaps we'll see each other again," said Mikey and raised his hand in parting. "Frank, I'll see you later. Good flying with you."

"Like always," said Frank, smiling and turning back to Ray. "Say hi to Gerard."

Mikey gave him a little smile and left to catch the bus.

* * *

Gerard slowly awoke around five when the quiet place in his heart where Mikey was when he wasn't in the air began to prickle. That meant Mikey was close, likely already in France. It was morning. Light was seeping into the room through the cracks in the shutters, the birds were starting to yell, and Gerard was, as always, worried. He couldn't fall back asleep, so he lay in a half-doze under the warm covers and waited. When Mikey touched down, Gerard felt it in his chest as an extra beat of his heart, a missing cog snapping into place, and smiled up at the ceiling helplessly. There wasn't any point in getting up. Mikey wouldn't be home for hours, and it was his turn to make the coffee.

Gerard turned over and rubbed his face all over the sheet, inhaling the smell of warm bed. His body was heavy with sleep, and he felt good all over, a diffuse sort of pleasure in every bit of his body. Even his fingertips felt good. Then the neighbors' dog began to bark, sharp and yippy even through the walls, and someone across the street started banging the shutters. Time to get up, then. He could make coffee and breakfast and be awake when Mikey came home.

Gerard crawled out of bed and threw his robe on quickly. The chilly air was a shock even with the closed door and window keeping the warmth in. The old wooden floor creaked under his bare feet as he padded downstairs, first to piss and splash some water on his face, and then into the kitchen. There, it was even more brisk because the kitchen windows faced north. It wouldn't get warm there until mid-afternoon at least. It was his and Mikey's favorite place to sit when it was too hot in the garden. Gerard threw the shutters open to let the light in, already rosier than when he first awoke, and shivered as the breeze flowed into the room before he managed to slam the window shut.

Gerard looked around the kitchen. Mikey would definitely want coffee and breakfast. He never ate much in the plane, and he wouldn't have stopped in the cafeteria on his way here, so his last meal would've been at least six hours ago in Dakar.

Gerard started the coffee and dug around in the cellar for the milk and eggs. The heat from the burner was warming up the room a little, the noises from the street were familiar, and the bread Gerard was nibbling on was still soft and fragrant even though it had been purchased the previous morning. The bonded bit of Gerard's heart was filling up.

Gerard pulled the robe more tightly around himself and smiled, ducking his head. He could go get the morning paper, but the kitchen was too nice to leave. Instead, he rustled through the folder of mail and old newspapers hanging on the wall to find a scrap of paper and a pencil and settled in to draw. He drew the coffee pot on the stove just to stretch his fingers, then some sprites dragging a coffee cup towards it, fetching the coffee with a bucket as if from a well.

He kept shooting glances at the clock as though it would bring the bus more quickly and concentrated on the beating of the link inside him instead of tuning it out like both he and Mikey usually did. He always missed Mikey too much by the time Mikey came home. That and coffee passed the time until the bus finally stopped the next block over. Gerard felt Mikey hop off and then felt each and every step of the half-kilometer between the bus stop and home.

Mikey opened the front door and walked in, stepping with a tired unevenness and letting in cold jasmine-scented air from the front garden. Gerard looked down to hide his smile.

"Hi, Gee," Mikey said from the kitchen doorway. "Happy to see me?"

"Only if you brought in the paper," said Gerard, throwing a little glance at Mikey.

Mikey threw the paper on the table with an amused twitch of his lips. "I flew here specially to deliver it from the front step to the kitchen. Have I earned my keep?"

"Your keep is on the stove," said Gerard, moving his coffee cup aside and unfolding the paper enthusiastically. "It’s all yours. I didn’t even have any yet."

"You don't have to lie. I'll love you anyway," said Mikey and poured himself coffee into the tallest mug they had. "What are you looking for in there? Why do we even get this delivered? The only one who ever reads it is Frank."

“I thought we did get it delivered for Frank.” Gerard grinned at the back of Mikey’s head. Mikey was still wearing his helmet and jacket, and his goggles were around his neck. It made him look anachronistic in the kitchen where two of the walls were centuries-old exposed stone, but it also made the kitchen look the way Gerard liked it. "I want to see if they published my cartoon."

Mikey smiled and sat in the chair nearest Gerard's. "Is that what you were so excited about yesterday? "

"The editor called yesterday morning after you left. He said there might not be space for it, but he was interested." Gerard rustled through the pages from the back until reaching the local news.

Mikey leaned over. "Oh! That one is yours, isn't it?"

“Yeah,” said Gerard, tracing the lines of the drawing. Mikey rested his chin on Gerard's shoulder, and Gerard put the paper down and leaned into him. "I like it when my stuff gets attention," he said. It was hard not to preen when it was _there_ in thick black lines and his signature in the corner. "It makes me feel like I'm not wasting my time here."

Mikey hummed into Gerard's hair. "You're not. We're not."

"I suppose so. You certainly aren't, and I like it here well enough."

Mikey ruffled Gerard's hair and then smoothed it down with a laugh when Gerard scrunched up his face and twisted away. His bedhead didn't need any help. "Good. I don't suppose there's breakfast?"

"There's milk," offered Gerard. "Eggs and bread, too."

"That'll work," said Mikey, and he settled in more comfortably in the chair, leaning his head against the wall and studying Gerard through drooping eyelids. He looked tired. Gerard watched him drink his coffee, clutching his mug like it was the only thing holding him up. In the past few years, Gerard got used to waking up to Mikey's alarm or the telephone ringing in the middle of the night and Mikey stumbling out the door and coming back exhausted the next morning, nine thousand kilometers later. It wasn't what Gerard had expected when he told Mikey he'd be moving to France, and Mikey announced he would come with him. Gerard didn’t like Mikey leaving, but he did like the mornings when he returned.

Mikey raised an eyebrow and pushed a little through the link, and Gerard shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. Pain perdu okay?"

Mikey nodded. Gerard got up to make toast for both of them, flicking Mikey on the head on the way to the stove. "You're still wearing your helmet." Mikey scrambled to unbuckle and take it off, sighing in satisfaction.

"I did take it off when we got in, so Frank wouldn't make fun of me, but I got tired of carrying it walking home."

Gerard snorted. "Yeah. How was your flight, anyway?"

"Almost perfect. We barely ran into any weather. There were some clouds crossing into Spain, but we just curved around them, and it was all clear and smooth from there," said Mikey. Through the tiredness, contentedness radiated out from him in waves.

Gerard threw the egg-soaked bread into the sizzling pan and turned around to study the back of Mikey's head. It was a half-flattened, half-sticking up mess, and he wondered if it had been like that the entire time since Mikey received the call the morning before. Usually Mikey had time to fix it, but it had been a last-minute call.

"You would have liked it," said Mikey after a short silence. "The sea was a picture. You’d like Dakar, too.”

Gerard hummed a quiet noise of agreement while Mikey drained the rest of his coffee and poured more. “Frank and me found a new cafe there. I'll bring you one of their buns next time."

Gerard bit his lip. "And how is Frank?"

Mikey's shoulders tensed imperceptibly. "Fine."

"Not up for discussion, huh?" said Gerard and put a plate with three huge pieces of toast in front of Mikey. "Eat."

Mikey glared at Gerard. "No prying."

"I'm not, Jesus."

Mikey eyed Gerard suspiciously for another moment or two. Then he turned his attention to the plate and started shoveling french toast into his mouth. "This is really good. You missed your calling."

Gerard beamed and sat down with his own plate, spooning honey over the bread. A few weeks later there would be berries for breakfast, but it was good like this, too, simple and sweet.

They ate quietly for a while as the room slowly warmed, and a sliver of sunlight crept in at the edge of the window. Gerard winced and moved his chair over to get away from the blinding light, sticking his tongue out at Mikey when he laughed.

Finally, Mikey put down his fork and yawned wide and loud. "I think I'll go sleep, okay?"

"Sure. Want me to bring some blankets down into the garden?"

Mikey hummed in thought and got up. "Nah. Thanks, but I'll sleep in my room. I had enough fresh air in the last day.”

"No problem," said Gerard and patted Mikey on the cheek. "Go sleep."

"I'll come down when I'm awake. Thanks for breakfast." Mikey smiled at him tiredly and left the room, trailing his hand along Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard sat in the kitchen a while longer, looking at his cartoon and wiping leftover honey off his plate with chunks of bread torn off the loaf. He'd have to go to the market later for more, so they could have sandwiches. He listened to Mikey a little, too, felt him splash water on his face and stub his toe on the dresser and, finally, drop off.

* * *

Mikey woke up with the sheet tangled around his ankles and the blanket completely underneath him. He frowned down at the linens, feeling vaguely betrayed, and sat up. It felt late, and he was hungry, so he threw on a pair of trousers and an undershirt and wandered downstairs. He caught a glance of himself in the hallway mirror and recoiled, running his fingers through his hair and patting it down. The house was silent, and everything was put away in the kitchen except for a towel-covered plate and the coffee pot on the stove. Mikey shook his head. Gerard had taken to housekeeping as an entertaining hobby after Mikey got bored hanging around the house and applied to flight school. Their mother never believed Mikey’s letters.

Lifting the towel revealed a ham sandwich and a quartered tomato. His brother was a god. Mikey swiped the salt cellar off the stove, touching the coffee pot along the way and feeling with satisfaction that it was still quite warm, and sprinkled some salt over the tomatoes. He took the plate and a mug of coffee and set off toward the back of the house in search of Gerard.

Gerard was, as Mikey expected, slumped sideways in the bench swing in the garden with a sketchbook propped up on his chest. Mikey watched from the doorway and tried not to laugh at Gerard muttering to himself under his breath and smoking furiously until he finally noticed Mikey's presence and looked up, still frowning in concentration. "Are you going to lurk there all day?"

Mikey pushed at Gerard's feet until he moved them up and sat down next to him. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," said Mikey around a mouthful of sandwich. "What time is it?"

Gerard looked up at the sky. "Six-ish, I guess. I got back from the market around noon, but I lost track of time since then. Do you have anything at the airport tonight?"

Mikey chewed and swallowed a piece of tomato. "I don't have anything for the next week. Emergencies aside, I'm completely free."

He felt a warm glow inside that he was sure wasn't coming entirely from him and looked up to see a trace of a smile on Gerard's face. It wasn't that Mikey was never home, but his schedule sometimes meant he was either gone or asleep for days at a time, and a week or more would go by with them barely seeing each other. Those weeks were rough. Whatever it was that tied them together was sometimes useful, but mostly it made separation acute and impossible to ignore.

"Maybe we can have Frank over Sunday," said Gerard. "Have a picnic up on the hill. It's been a while since he's been here. He could bring his guitar."

"Yeah," said Mikey, carefully not drawing his shoulders up. He felt a little guilty because he knew Gerard liked and missed Frank, but Mikey saw plenty of Frank at work and was pretty sure that seeing more of him was not what he needed. "I don't know if he'll want to come."

He must not have been entirely successful in feigning disinterest because Gerard's mouth twisted, and his eyes went soft. "Mikey, of course he'll want to come. He really likes you."

Mikey threw his head back, sinking into the cushions, and stared up at the sky. It was as perfect as in the morning, a creamy even blue peppered with slow pinkish clouds. If he were flying with Frank, he'd be careful to avoid them. If Frank got condensation on his face when he didn't have to, Mikey wouldn't stop hearing about it for a week.

Mikey liked flying through clouds. They looked as distant and solid from above as they did from the ground, but flying through one broke the illusion, made Mikey see them as they really were. Today was warm enough that Mikey wanted to dunk his head into one of them to cool off.

Gerard poked Mikey's thigh with his foot. "Hey. Come down here."

Mikey shook his head. "A friend of his from back home was at the airport today. Frank was real happy to see him.”

“From back home?” asked Gerard, lighting up. “From Jersey?”

“From Belleville. He seemed like a good friend, so Frank will probably be busy."

"So? Pilots are in and out. That guy'll be gone by tomorrow."

"He's not a mail pilot; he’s a flight instructor." Mikey shrugged. "I'm pretty sure he's not leaving."

"Well, invite them both," said Gerard decisively. "He's from Belleville, Mikes. Don't you want to get to know him, too?"

Mikey looked at Gerard again. He hadn’t thought Gerard missed Jersey that much, but there was no point in arguing with him when he was determined to steamroll over Mikey's half-hearted objections. "Okay. I'll ask them over tomorrow if I run into Frank at the market."

Gerard beamed, and Mikey blinked momentarily, dazzled. "It'll be great, Mikey, I promise."

It was hard not to be convinced by a smile like that, so the next morning, Mikey hopped the bus to the market at Frank's usual time, even though he had to drag himself out of bed. Frank got up much too early.

The market was crowded in the Saturday rush. Mikey ignored the fruit and vegetable stalls and made a beeline for the bakery. Gerard hadn’t given him a shopping list, possibly because Mikey snuck out before Gerard was awake, so Mikey felt justified in just getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was quiche lorraine and fruit custard tarts.

Mikey purchased enough quiche and dessert for four people, plus a vegetable tart because meat didn't agree with Frank. Errands done, he strolled through the stalls, shouldering through the throng of shoppers. He couldn't see Frank anywhere which was odd. He ran into Frank nearly every time he shopped at the market, usually smoking in front of the charcuterie after he’d been yelled at for blowing smoke into the bakery. Lately Mikey had been letting Gerard do most of the shopping, though, so perhaps Frank's habits had changed.

Mikey made another round through the stalls, shrugged, and turned back toward the bus stop, frowning at the ground. He wasn't looking where he was going until he slammed into someone else who let out a slightly pained grunt.

"Pardon!" said Mikey, taking a step back and trying not to drop his bags.

"Pas de... oh, hello!"

Mikey blinked and looked up. It was Frank's friend Ray. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and it turned out that he had pretty impressive hair. Mikey made a mental note to tell Gerard about it. "Ray, hi. Sorry about that."

"No problem," said Ray. "I wasn't looking where I was going either." He was rubbing his arm, which made Mikey feel bad, but he also had a sunny grin on his face, which made Mikey smile back. Maybe inviting him over wouldn't be too bad.

"I'm glad to run into you. I'd been looking for Frank to invite the two of you over to mine for dinner. If you don't already have Sunday plans, that is."

Ray shook his head. "That's awfully nice of you. I don't know many people here aside from airline management, and I'm more used to complaining about them than spending my free time with them."

"Well, you should come." Mikey shook the bag of quiches at Ray. "You may not get to try my brother's cooking, but these tarts are really good. If you're going to see Frank, tell him to come, too."

Mikey gave Ray directions and quickly walked the rest of the way to the bus. By the time he got home, their street was empty and silent. Mikey stopped and held his breath for a moment. If he listened hard, he could hear the distant noise of families lunching. He liked being home on Sundays, when everyone retreated into their homes for lunch, the streets emptied, and the only people that existed for him were the ones who really mattered.

Gerard met him at the doors in shorts and an undershirt, looking sleepy and disheveled, and, Mikey suddenly registered, _upset_. Gerard seemed calm, more or less, but Mikey knew better.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Airport rang. Valin is still sick. You've gotta go in, do his route again."

"Shit," Mikey swore, heartfelt, and set the bags down on the step. "Gerard..."

"Yeah, yeah," said Gerard. "It's not your fault."

He trailed Mikey inside, into Mikey's bedroom, and sat down on the bed, bouncing up and down a little. Mikey changed into a fresh shirt and grabbed his bag and jacket and sat down next to Gerard. "I'm sorry," he said seriously. "I know it happens pretty often."

Gerard hugged him tight. "But you come back, so that's okay."

Mikey's eyes prickled a little, and he clung back for a moment before extracting himself and wiping at his eyes. Getting upset was dumb. He was always back the next day.

* * *

Gerard heard Mikey thump down the stairs and slam the front door and fell back on the bed. He was proud of Mikey, but when he announced that he was moving to France, years ago now, he expected Mikey to tag along and just _be there_. Mikey finding his own, much more impressive thing, was a surprise that for the most part was amazing. Gerard only hated the moment of takeoff, the moment when Mikey went from being there to not.

Getting upset was pointless, so Gerard grabbed his easel and set up in the garden. He had commissions to work on.

He worked through the afternoon, getting distracted enough that he barely noticed Mikey taking off. He thought he heard the doorbell ring once and then again, politely somehow, and suddenly he remembered that Mikey had promised he'd invite Frank over.

"Around the back, Frank" yelled Gerard and opened a new tube of ultramarine, sucking on his finger when he scraped it on the stuck cap.

"Hello?" called a voice from the side of the house. "Oh, excuse me!" Gerard looked down and saw that he was still wearing his shorts and undershirt and nothing else. Frank had seen worse, but this wasn't Frank. It was a guy with a lot of hair who made to approach Gerard and blushed instead, eyes darting down Gerard’s legs and back up to meet his eyes.

"Sorry about all the," Gerard waved his hand. "Skin. Are you here to see Mikey?"

"He invited me over," said the stranger. He made it sound a little like a question, and Gerard cocked his head. He could be a pilot, and he was definitely from Jersey. This guy seemed like he could pull off a leather helmet, and the Jersey accent definitely went with the eyepatch.

The man jiggled his arm around and said, "Also, I found this by your front door?"

"Oh, shit - excuse me." It was Mikey's market bag. Gerard went up to him and grabbed the bag. "Hold on a minute." He ran into the kitchen to stuff the food into the cellar and then ran back out. The guy was still standing there, looking around and looking a little impressed.

Gerard sat back down on his stool. He'd lost the thread of what he'd been doing. "Are you Ray Toro? Mikey had to pick up someone else's flight. Sorry, he didn't mention that he'd seen you. He promised, but I assumed he decided to avoid... well, never mind."

Ray blinked a little, and his eyes darted down and up again. Gerard grinned and put his foot up on his chair, drawing his knee up to his chest, and watched Ray not look down. "I guess you're Mikey's brother? Gerard, right?"

"That's me." Gerard squeezed some paint onto the palette. "Have a seat. I like the bench swing, myself, but that's kind of far away for conversation. There's a gardening stool over there under the blackcurrant bush, though, you can grab that. It’s kind of covered in dirt, sorry."

Ray looked around the garden. "The blackcurrant is that one with the smaller berries," pointed Gerard. "The one with the fuzzy ones is gooseberry. It's goddamn spiky, so be careful."

Ray retrieved the stool and sat down, sprawling more comfortably than Gerard had expected.

"You paint?" he asked.

"And draw. I publish comics in the papers sometimes, but I moved here for the views, so I could paint."

"Do you mind?" asked Ray and walked over to look at Gerard's canvas when Gerard shrugged. "That's... interesting. Those are the Pyrénées. One of the gaps in the range."

Gerard blinked and looked up at Ray. "Most people would comment on the black ooze."

Ray shrugged. "You're an artist. You don't look at things the same way as most people, that’s a given. I don't think I see things the same as most either,” he said after a pause.

"Mikey says that, too,” said Gerard. He picked up the chair and walked it a few paces back, staring at the painting. “Do you like it?"

"It's somewhat freakish," said Ray contemplatively. There was a ring of approval in his voice.

"Well, thanks," said Gerard. His cheeks felt warm. "Want a drink?"

"Sure."

Gerard set the brush down and headed for the house, tugging at his undershirt where it was riding up in the back. "What do you like?" he asked, looking back at Ray.

Ray was still standing by the easel, but at Gerard's raised eyebrow he startled and followed Gerard into the house. "Beer, if you have it."

Gerard grinned. "We keep some around."

The beer was in the cellar. Ray sat back on his haunches and watched as Gerard moved the bottles of milk aside and extracted the beer and a bottle of lemonade for himself. "It's too warm out for the middle of June. We should just drink it in here if we both fit."

"What, between the cheese and the mousetraps?" laughed Gerard. "I don't think you want to sit on that floor."

Ray laughed, too, high-pitched, almost a giggle. Gerard smiled, safely turned away into the darkness of the cellar. "Let's go back outside, then."

They sat next to each other on the bench swing. Flies buzzed around them, and the air hummed the way it only did on warm summer afternoons. Ray took a swig of beer and remarked, "You have a spectacular view here."

Gerard stopped worrying the corner of the lemonade label and made a noise of agreement, looking around. It was a well-situated house, about halfway up the gently sloped hill overlooking the city. The garden faced away from town, and all you could see was green - the well-maintained gardens of their neighbors to either side, the tall grasses towards the back of the property where Gerard and Mikey never mowed, and the upward-sloping hillside mottled with clumps of white and purple flowers.

"We lucked into it," said Gerard. "When we moved here in '26, we rented an apartment in the cheap part of town. I was still trying to get consistent work, and Mikey wasn't doing much, plus our French wasn't that great yet. Then I met someone who liked my art, from Britain, you know? He was my patron for a while, introduced me to people, got me commissions. That set me and Mikey up."

"Why'd you move here at all?"

"Our grandmother died. I took it hard, decided to disappear somewhere, not tell anyone, and just go. Mikey didn't let me." Remembering that still made guilt and warmth curl in Gerard's stomach.

Ray's face was open and kind, and there was sympathy in his eyes that Gerard didn't want or need. "How'd _you_ end up here?" said Gerard almost accusingly. "Mikey said you were in a crash and stopped flying. So how come you're suddenly on the other side of the pond in an aviation town?"

If Gerard had wanted to make Ray uncomfortable in return, it didn't show in Ray's face. He smiled ruefully instead and dug out a cigarette case from his pocket. "Want one?"

Gerard nodded and tilted his head back against the cushions, watching Ray lazily through half-closed eyelids. Ray looked up to hand Gerard a cigarette and paused, looking at Gerard intently.

"What?" asked Gerard.

"Nothing," said Ray and handed Gerard the cigarette. "Hold on, let me get a match." He struck it and lifted it to Gerard's face. Gerard puffed until the cigarette lit, still watching Ray.

Ray got the hint and said, "I went to train as a pilot right out of school. I flew mail all around the States. It was a good living, and I was good at it. I earned enough money and met enough people to set my family up, set even after my plane went down and I lost my eye."

Gerard nodded and ashed on the grass. "And?"

"And I still wanted to fly, and I was sick of the same routes, the same old scenery. Frank kept writing how much he liked it here, so I came. To teach, but also..." Ray paused. "You know that transatlantic airmail service is the next thing, right? They've just set up regular routes in the South Atlantic, and they’re working on it here. I want to be around it when it happens.”

Gerard whistled. "How's that going to work? Mikey said it's impossible unless you're flying a seaplane, and there's no sea here."

"It won’t happen for a while, but if there’s an engineer who can make a plane that can do it, he’ll probably be here. And I... well, like I said, I want to be around it.”

Gerard lifted his bottle and clinked it against Ray's. "Good luck. If you’re right, our mother will be able to update us on Belleville news weekly."

Ray laughed again. “Is that good or bad?”

Gerard shrugged and smiled. “Mikey really misses her.”

"I can’t help with that,” said Ray softly. “But as for news, Belleville hasn't changed much since you left. It's a little emptier now, I guess. The market crash hasn't been good to it."

"I always wanted to get out," said Gerard and put a foot up on the swing, bending his knee and drawing his arms around it. "I'm glad I didn't get out alone, but I still miss Jersey."

Ray shifted towards Gerard. "I didn't expect to meet anyone from back home here, aside from Frank. It was a nice surprise."

"Yeah," said Gerard. "Me, Mikey, Frank, and now you. We'll start a New New Jersey."

* * *

Mikey thought unflattering thoughts about Valin, who had managed to come down with pneumonia in the middle of June and ruin all of Mikey's carefully traded shifts and plans for a week's holiday at home, all through the thirty-minute bus ride. They became less unflattering and more gruesome when the bus turned onto the last stretch of the ride through town, which was cobbled and made Mikey’s teeth feel like they were staging an escape.

He was still mad when he walked into the airport cafeteria and sat down next to Frank, who was eating soup. Frank looked up at him. "What's the frown about, Way?"

Mikey put his bag down on the bench next to him and said, "I'm not frowning."

"Not with your face," agreed Frank, "but I can tell."

"Where were you this morning? I was going to invite you to mine and Gerard's." Thinking about Gerard made Mikey feel that thread between them more consciously. Gerard seemed distracted. That was good, at least.

"I got a call that Valin was sick, and they put me on the docket, so you wouldn' t have to fly with Valin's guy."

Mikey stared at Frank. "Do they think I don't like Valin's guy?"

Frank shrugged and turned back to his soup. It was pale and cloudy with lumps and threads of green floating in it. Mikey wrinkled his nose. "They think you like me. You've never flown with Valin's guy."

Mikey looked down. "Right." He remembered Gerard telling him that Frank liked him. "I'm glad you're coming," he said quietly.

Something in Frank's posture changed, became softer. "Well. I can't let you fly with guys you don't know, right?"

"Uh-huh," said Mikey, a little less morose. "I think you just want to go to Dakar again."

"Why would I want to go to Dakar when this cafeteria has such gourmet fare to offer?" said Frank, deadpan.

"I bought you a vegetable tart from the bakery at market. You could be eating that right now. I think it's still sitting outside by the front door with the quiches, shit."

Frank laughed so loudly that people at the nearby tables turned to glare at him. Frank covered his mouth with his hand and said, "Oops," not looking a bit sorry. "If you didn't see Gerard bring them in, you know they're still sitting out there."

"He was upset about me flying out again," said Mikey. "When we get back, I'll try to take time off for real."

"You two and your need to commune," said Frank, shaking his head. "The girl I had back home has twins now, and they're like that, but I've never heard of brothers three years apart be like the two of you."

Mikey frowned at Frank, and Frank put his hands up. "Hey. I think it's sweet."

"You should come over for a picnic," said Mikey, placated. "After we get back. What time is it?"

Frank rolled his eyes and looked at his watch "About time. I got the flight plan right here. You have your stuff?"

Mikey pointed at his bag.

"Then let's go."

Stepping out the other side of the airport building onto the tarmac still felt like stepping into another world, even four years later. The smell of fuel and machine oil and heated metal and the heat radiating up from the concrete like a physical force made the airfield seem not quite real. It also made Mikey feel not quite like himself, like it was someone else who had these esoteric skills and knowledge, who looked at the machines around him and the sky above him and saw answers where others wouldn't even see questions. Mikey was never sure, here, if he liked this stranger within himself or if he wished he'd never thrown himself into this puzzle.

The craft they were going to take through the mountains and over Spain and along the Maghreb coast 'til Dakar was already loaded up with the mail in their thick leather bags. The mechanic had already started it, and it was nearly vibrating, the hazy air under the chassis creating the illusion of levitation, like a live bird in anticipation of being set free.

Frank elbowed Mikey. "You ever gonna get in?" Mikey nodded and pulled on his helmet and goggles, hopped up into the cabin and into the pilot's seat. Frank climbed up next to him, a warm presence against Mikey's side even through their lined leather jackets, and buckled in.

Mikey shouted to the mechanic that they were ready and looked over at Frank. He also changed into a bit of a stranger during these times. Mikey couldn't read his face without seeing his eyes, and his mouth was set in an distant, concentrated way that Mikey never saw outside the plane. He didn't know how to read Frank here, but he knew how to read his directions, and that was enough.

They received the signal to go, radio crackling to indicate the proper runway, and Mikey turned away from Frank, leaned back, and steered.

The familiar shudder of the plane accelerating down the runway settled Mikey into himself as always, and the moment of liftoff, the smooth swoop off the surface of the Earth, and the bittersweet ripping of his bond like the lifting of an anchor filled Mikey up completely with the sweetness and elation of flight. The buildings and fields and hills grew small beneath them, and soon there was nothing but wind battering their faces, the golden light of the sunset falling downwards in stripes around the clouds, and the Pyrénées rising up before them.

Frank tapped Mikey on the shoulder, and Mikey looked away from the instruments. Frank was grinning and saying something Mikey couldn't hear over the rush of air but was pretty sure meant "ace takeoff." His heart pounded.

He shot Frank a shaky smile and turned to his controls and the blue landscape before him, settling into a groove. It took hardly any effort to find a current to lift them and carry them toward the mountains, to the gap he knew was there. It didn't take long, barely any time at all compared to what was ahead, and soon the air grew cooler, condensing on his cheeks like tears, and the current grew strong, drawing the plane in and sweeping it into the gap. The gap was wide enough but winding and lined with sharp crags like a beast's maw. Mikey knew it better than anything else up here, and yet he felt as always like a child's doll in a toy plane up against something much grander than him in scale.

Frank prompted and led Mikey. He loved navigating this range and sometimes was disappointed when they didn't need to find a detour. Today, though, neither of them wanted excitement. Soon enough they were out of the mountains and saw Spain laid out before them past the sea of treetops at the foot of the range, a yellow-green sunny landscape.

Below, Mikey knew, the country was rocky, uneven, orange groves and livestock and people all potential perils. But they didn't become dangers until necessary, and from up here the ground looked smooth as land could only look from above. It was gliding below them in a patchwork quilt of greens broken up by the occasional blinding shine of a winding river, smooth like polished metal, and the wind chapping their cheeks was the only price they'd ever pay to see this.

At the first shining blue flash of the sea in the distance, Frank whooped loud enough for Mikey to hear over the roar of the wind. Mikey turned his head for a glance at Frank and caught a glimpse of his flushed face and beaming grin, a headwind whipping around some curls that had escaped his helmet. He looked more in his element than Mikey ever felt, and Mikey wanted that, wanted to be him and, here where he could admit it, be with him, now and always.

Frank gave Mikey instructions to bear west, and Mikey tilted the plane, directing it closer to the ocean, into the setting sun. Mikey felt Frank throw his hand up to shield his eyes against the light pouring into their vision. This was why they both liked the first route of the day, flying with their backs to the sun, pretending to coast on its rays.

For a long while the sea was no more than a narrow blue strip reflecting sunlight in the distance, blending land and sky at the horizon. As they drew close enough, it suddenly became an endless expanse of water to starboard. It always took Mikey's breath away to see this. He wished he could show it to Gerard. They'd shared the journey across the ocean, nothing but the ocean around them for days on end, but now Mikey had a different way of seeing it. He wanted Gerard to see it, too.

Frank fiddled with his charts and elbowed Mikey to bear more south, and there it was, the yellow edge of Africa, the last stage of the flight. It was only about two more hours of skirting the coast in the dying light until Frank sat up and started to guide Mikey through the landing, a tricky turn out to the sea and back towards the shore where the airport runway was wide and welcoming.

Frank clapped Mikey on the back when they touched down, and Mikey grabbed this arm and held it there for a moment. "I always love this," he said, needing to explain. "It's not the same as coming home."

Frank nodded and unbuckled the straps of his helmet and both their seatbelts. "It's dinner time, and we're four thousand kilometers from where we had lunch. I know."

They lingered by the craft to help unload the mail, Mikey hanging back while Frank glared at him like always. He needed a moment after landing anyway to let Gerard settle back into his heart. Gerard was a quieter presence this far away but still a clear one. He was in a good mood and seemed distracted, but not so much so that he didn't notice and reciprocate Mikey stretching a tendril of thought to him. Mikey sent Gerard a wave of "okay" and gently disengaged.

Mikey stripped his jacket off and undid two buttons of his shirtsleeves. It was hot and dry, despite the sea breeze and the promise of a cold night. When Mikey turned around, Frank had removed his jacket, too, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, enough to see the tattoo on his left forearm that Mikey had seen before but never examined.

Frank caught him looking and held his eyes for a moment until Mikey blushed, then hopped off the fuselage and walked toward him. "Let's get our schedule, yeah?"

Mikey nodded wordlessly and followed Frank into the building. It was louder than the Toulouse airport was during the busiest times. It held more airlines and housed more pilots and was _cramped_ , gates and offices wedged in against each other. Mikey and Frank loved it.

They dumped their gear in cubicles at the Aéropostale office and handed off their flight reports. Mikey sat on a bench by a window overlooking the tarmac and watched Frank vigorously explain something to the dispatcher in loud French. He was suddenly tired and couldn't wait to get a dorm room key and not come out until tomorrow.

Frank turned back from the dispatcher's desk and came up to Mikey. He looked pissed. "That asshole won't give us anything earlier than the seven o'clock tomorrow night. His roster's fucking full, he says."

Mikey sighed. It would've been too much to ask for everything to be easy. "Did you get us quarters?"

Frank held up his hand, dangling a metal ring with a key off his middle finger and smirking. Mikey snorted. "Let's go. I want to sleep."

"You can't go to bed before the sun even sets, Mikey Way," said a voice behind them. Frank's mouth twisted with half-affectionate irritation, and Mikey held back a grin, unexpectedly delighted.

"Gabe," he said, turning around. "What the hell are you doing here? I didn't think I'd see you in Europe again, let alone on this continent."

Gabe looked good, and he knew it, all long loose limbs and attitude like nothing was ever hard. "Lucky coincidence, isn't it?" He grinned and stuck his arms out, wiggling his fingers at Mikey. Mikey rolled his eyes but stepped into Gabe's arms and leaned in. It had been years. He didn't know where Gabe had been since he left Toulouse, but he was just the same and, like before, a friend.

Frank coughed, and Mikey extricated himself from Gabe. Frank shook Gabe's hand. "Hey, Saporta. How's your brother?"

"That's the first thing you ask me?"

"Hey, I know how _you_ are. You're right here."

"He's still in Jersey. He's doing good. Bought a club." Gabe leaned against the wall and stuck one foot out, examining his shoes. "I'm thinking of taking some time off, going over there."

"Well, tell him I said hi. You flying out tonight?"

Gabe laughed. "You should be so lucky. I am taking you both out tonight. I know places."

"Can one of those places be our room?" asked Mikey. "Because I might fall down if I don't get some rest." Gabe grinned slowly and looked him up and down until Mikey rolled his eyes.

"Asshole. I suppose we can go out."

They left their belongings in their room and hired a cab closer inland, to a street that didn't have the best cafes and holes in the wall in town but which was Mikey and Frank's favorite anyway. Mikey hid a little smile from Gabe. Either he'd guessed or remembered which cafes Mikey liked best. It was already past nightfall, and the light inside the cafes illuminated their way.

Gabe brought them to a place Mikey and Frank had walked past many times without noticing, the entrance hidden behind a stairwell and draped with fabric nearly the same color as the wall. Gabe pulled the curtain back and motioned for Mikey and Frank to go through. Mikey stepped inside and was hit in the face by a wall of fragrant smoke that filled the bar through and through.

"Shit," Frank muttered quietly, impressed and anticipatory, while Mikey coughed and rubbed his eyes. Gabe gave them a little push and led them to a table and two wide soft couches in a hidden corner. Frank immediately sprawled on one of them and Gabe on the other. Mikey looked back and forth between them. Gabe tilted his chin up and put his feet on the couch, too, taking up all the space. Mikey sighed and sat next to Frank, ignoring Gabe's satisfied grin.

A waiter approached them, and Gabe ordered something in French that Mikey didn't hear; the smell of tobacco, all the different flavors mingling, was making him sleepier than ever. He slumped into Frank's side, and Frank put an arm around him and told the waiter something, too. "I ordered tea," he whispered to Mikey. "That'll wake you up."

Mikey huffed and turned into Frank's side. "I don't want to wake up."

"Sure you do," said Frank, but he shifted to let Mikey's head rest more comfortably against him.

Mikey drifted off to the sound of Gabe and Frank's voices, but it must've only been a few minutes. When he came to, the shisha had just arrived, and Gabe was adjusting the coal with a pair of small silver tongs. Mikey sat up and spit a strand of hair out of his mouth.

"It's alive," said Frank. Mikey tried to glare at him, but he couldn't quite focus his eyes yet.

There was a sweet taste in his mouth, the gross sticky kind daytime sleep brought, and Mikey wrinkled his nose. "You said something about tea."

Frank moved a glass over to him, and Mikey drank it slowly, rolling the sweet minty flavor of it on his tongue. "Better." He did feel more awake, refreshed.

Gabe uncoiled the hose from the bowl and sat down, watching Mikey with lazy eyes. "Would you like first go?" he asked.

"So courteous," said Mikey. "It's not hot enough yet. Get it started." Next to him, Frank giggled. Mikey felt himself flush and was briefly grateful at the darkness for hiding it. The way Gabe smirked suggested that maybe it didn't hide everything.

"As you wish," said Gabe and took a deep drag. The smoke he blew out was thin with barely any scent to it, and Mikey felt his lips twitch. Gabe clutched his heart. "Your mockery wounds me, Mikey Way."

Mikey motioned for him to continue, and Gabe took another drag. The smoke was heavier and thicker now and swirled in the air between them. Mikey breathed it in and immediately felt light-headed.

"Give it to me," he said, and Gabe did. Mikey put the mouthpiece to his lips. He wasn't used to it, and the smoke burned on its way down, the drag of it warming him from the inside. Mikey blew it out in an opaque white stream and took another drag. This time he tried something fancy, blowing a smoke ring and then attempting to send a second one through the first but failing miserably. He turned to grin at Frank and found him watching carefully, not the smoke but Mikey's face. His eyes were serious, intense. Mikey's mouth went dry. He passed the hose to Frank wordlessly and grabbed his tea glass, an easy excuse to look away.

Gabe was watching them, and Mikey was uncomfortably aware that he understood everything, even things Mikey didn't, and he was somewhat afraid of what might happen if Gabe got bored of just watching. "Tell me where you fly now," Mikey said, hoping he wasn't too transparent.

Gabe shot him a look that said he was but answered, "Across the South Atlantic," and Mikey choked on his tea.

"Really?"

"I wouldn't bullshit you."

"Yes, you would."

"Well." Gabe waved his hand at Frank, who raised his eyebrow but passed over the hose. "I would but not about flying across the ocean. That's not the kind of lie that would be forgiven me."

"The company's first mail route across the Atlantic was last month," said Frank.

"And now they're making it a regular thing, and they wanted me, like anyone would."

Frank was quiet.

"Well," said Mikey. "That's big." There didn't seem to be anything to say that Gabe would want to hear. He suddenly felt wide awake, like he'd never sleep again.

Gabe pushed the hose into Mikey's hands. "Don't you dare worry about me. I'll outlive you both, you'll see."

Frank snorted. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I sure hope not."

Gabe smiled, the first smile that reached his eyes and didn't keep anything back. Mikey hadn't seen it in too long. "I'll drink to that."

"Drink tea, you mean," grumbled Frank, but he grabbed his glass and clinked it against Mikey's and Gabe's all the same.

They stayed in the bar most of the night, passing the hose in a circle, the thick smoke numbing the senses as well any drug they might try. When Mikey couldn't stop yawning and made Frank yawn, too, loud and sympathetic and ridiculous until all three of them giggled uncontrollably, they stumbled outside and stopped, tripping and holding each other up.

Night was thick. There was less light spilling out from the buildings lining the road than before and not much sound but dogs barking in the distance. In the moments of silence, Mikey could hear the surf if he held his breath.

"Shit," he said. "Our quarters are almost five kilometers away."

"And I'm freezing," said Frank. "This is not proper June weather. Why'd you let me leave my jacket in the room?"

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I'm not your keeper. Here." He shrugged his jacket off and put it on Frank's shoulders.

"You'll get cold," said Frank, squirming away. "And you'll complain about it for the next month."

"Better than you catching one of your horrible lung diseases and stranding us here for the next month. Put it on."

"Thanks," Frank muttered and let Mikey help him into the jacket. He looked up at him over the shoulder. "Tell me if you get too cold."

Gabe was already ahead of them, halfway up the block in the wrong direction. "I will abandon you there," he yelled. "Steal your stuff. Come on!"

Frank stepped away from Mikey and inclined his head the other way. "Quarters are that way, Saporta."

Gabe made a face Mikey could barely make out in the dim light and jogged back towards them. From up close, he looked comically hurt, and Mikey couldn't help giggling. "Didn't think three pipes were enough to disorient you. It's like you've never been here before."

"Fuck you," said Gabe.

"Hey," Frank interrupted. "Let's get going. Maybe you're not taking off for days, but we're leaving in the evening. My pilot's not going to fall asleep over Gibraltar."

"I'm taking off in..." Gabe looked at his watch. "Twelve hours. We should probably get back."

Mikey and Frank exchanged looks and started walking. Gabe quickly caught up and said, "You should come watch. You ever seen a seaplane take off?"

"Not from up close," said Mikey.

"Well, here's your chance."

"We'll be there," Mikey promised.

By the time they got back, Mikey was so tired he could barely stand. For the last few blocks, Gabe kept an arm around him, and Mikey sagged heavily into his side. Gabe walked them to their door and paused, unusually hesitant, and Mikey looked at Frank.

"There are two beds."

Frank looked exasperated but didn't object, just looked at Mikey and nodded. "Come in, I guess."

Frank disappeared into the tiny bathroom, and Mikey sat on one of the beds and watched Gabe's face. 

Gabe avoided his eyes for a while, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks," he muttered. "Thirty hours is a long time not to talk to anyone."

"You won't be alone," said Mikey. "You're always with somebody, Gabe. This isn't a solitary job no matter how much you like to imagine it is."

Gabe huffed and kicked off his shoes and his pants, getting tangled momentarily, and climbed into one of the beds. "I'm supposed to be the philosopher in this relationship. Don't steal my shtick."

"I can't help it," said Mikey and took off his socks. "I spend a lot of time with Gerard."

"You really do," said Frank, emerging from the bathroom. "I can actually tell how long the two of you have been in each other's company by how talkative you are. You're basically mute on day three."

Mikey threw a balled-up sock at Frank. Frank recoiled, and Mikey punched the air. "I win."

Frank sighed and started to undress. "Do you win a bath?"

Mikey ignored the hot twist in his stomach at the sight of more, new tattoos. "That would be if you won."

"Should've known. Get off, Mikey, I can't turn down the bedspread with you sitting there."

Mikey got up and turned away to undress, looking at Gabe. All that was visible of him was the top of his head poking out from under the blankets. "Night, Gabe," he said quietly.

Gabe muttered something, already more than half-asleep. Mikey stepped out of his pants and pulled his shirt off and slid under the covers as quickly as he could. Frank turned out the light and got in next to him. They'd shared smaller beds than this, but it was small enough that Mikey could feel how warm Frank was all along his side.

Frank shifted and sighed beside him, turning toward Mikey. “Think he’ll be okay to go tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

Mikey shrugged. “He’s Gabe Saporta. He’ll do it.”

Frank moved a little closer. “You’re worried about him.”

“Not really.” You learned not to worry pretty fast. Mikey got that lesson early.

“Yeah, but you’re worried a little more than you’d be about almost anyone else.”

“I don’t really want to talk about Gabe, Frank.”

Mikey felt Frank’s fingers touch his ribs, so light that he almost thought he imagined it. He closed his eyes. Maybe it _was_ only in his mind, Frank’s tanned hand on his white undershirt, resting just below his heart, bridging the short distance between them. “So tell me what you want to talk about. You’ve barely said a word to me in weeks.”

“I have, too,” said Mikey, indignant and too loud.

Frank shushed him. “Not much that wasn’t about planes,” he said in a whisper. “Tell me about your brother’s grand plans to entertain me and Ray. Better yet, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Well,” Mikey started. "I think I'm tired."

Frank laughed quietly. "Tell me something I can't see for myself." 

Mikey closed his eyes and took a breath, and the pressure of Frank's fingers on his chest became more pronounced. “I’m sorry I’ve been quiet. I didn’t mean to.”

Frank slid his hand up and hooked it around the back of Mikey’s neck. “That’s okay, Mikey Way.” He yawned, hot in Mikey’s face – god, this bed was small – and Mikey scrunched up his nose and pulled back with a mock-annoyed noise, making Frank giggle. “Maybe we should talk later. We gotta sleep, Mikey.”

Mikey didn’t say anything, just breathed in the scent of Frank. Frank smelled like tobacco and his mint tooth powder. Mikey really wanted to kiss him like the one time he thought he'd done it before, an almost accidental brush of lips in that fuzzy headspace where nothing seems more than half-real, drunk then, halfway between awake and asleep now.

Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes and turned his mind inside himself, into the bit of his heart where he could feel where Gerard was, what he was doing, and how he was feeling if he paid attention enough. It always settled him to focus there, on Gerard, when everything got too much. Gerard was sleeping, vague emotions flickering and fading, imprints of dream-images, but he stirred when he felt Mikey's mind sliding against his own. He didn't wake up, but it was acknowledgement enough, and Mikey fell asleep without realizing it.

He woke up again several hours later to full daylight and the periodic noise of aircraft taking off. In the long pauses between the dull roar of engines, the room was almost silent, nothing from Gabe's side and soft, regular breathing from Frank right next to Mikey.

Frank's arm was lying over Mikey's waist, and, without thinking much about it, Mikey threw his over Frank's waist, too, and moved closer.

The next time Mikey woke, Gabe was moving quietly in the room. Frank wasn't in bed, and there was the sound of running water in the bathroom. It was quite hot now, despite the sea breeze coming through the open window, and Mikey was wide awake. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair. It felt pretty stiff.

"When's the last time you washed that?" asked Gabe. Mikey rubbed his eyes. Gabe was already dressed, jacket thrown over one shoulder.

Mikey didn't dignify that with an answer and started to get dressed instead. "I'll wash when I get home."

Frank slipped out of the bathroom and started gathering his things. He smelled clean, like soap and water, unlike the stench of stale smoke coming off Gabe and Mikey himself. Mikey went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He stared into the tiny mirror trying to make his hair lie flat, and winced at the circles under his eyes. When he got home, he'd have to get in bed and not come out for a day. That would be the first order of business.

When Mikey came out, Gabe was gone. "He went to get his things," said Frank. He was already packed, and Mikey hadn't taken anything out of his bag. They were ready. Mikey's stomach was tight with nerves and anticipation.

They walked over together, Gabe oddly quiet. His place of takeoff was at a pier at the far side of the tarmac. The seaplane was already idling there next to several others. All of them looked new but battered in places with shining white repainted spots where the old paint had rusted off.

Frank looked at the plane in admiration. "She looks sturdy."

The corners of Gabe's mouth curled up. "Yeah. Lots of leg room, too."

"You tall people have strange priorities," said Frank. "I don't understand how you can fly at all."

"You try sitting in our plane for thirty hours, Frankie," said Mikey. "You'll cry uncle."

"I fervently hope that will never happen."

Gabe wasn't listening to them anymore. He rolled his shoulders and put his helmet on. The pier was busy. A porter was rolling away the empty cart that had held the mail bags, and a mechanic was hunched over inside the plane running last-minute checks. Gabe's navigator, a man of forty or forty-five with a wind-wrinkled face, was going over the flight plan.

"Last time I saw you, you were flying with someone else," remarked Mikey. "Where is he?"

Gabe lifted his chin. "He stayed in Chicago. I'm trying to get him to uproot, but no luck so far."

The mechanic shouted to him in Spanish, and Gabe straightened up and tugged his jacket on the rest of the way. Mikey stepped forward, getting in Gabe's space. "Take care of yourself, will you?"

Gabe put his hand on Mikey's cheek. "Promise. Say hi to Gerard. Oh, wait a minute--" He dug around in his bag until he saw a leather-wrapped parcel. "I was going to save it for a special occasion, but you take it. Share with your friends and loved ones."

Mikey lifted a corner and wrinkled his nose. "Hashish, Gabe, really?"

Gabe grinned. "You get the special occasion, I get the knowledge that you lived a little."

"I live!"

Gabe's grin softened to a smile, and he pressed his forehead to Mikey's. "Take care. I'll send you a postcard."

Mikey hugged him. "You'd better."

Gabe straightened and picked up his bag. "Later, Frank," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Be good."

The navigator was already in the cockpit, and Gabe gave Mikey and Frank a last wave and climbed in. The propeller kicked in, and the engines revved, sending a spray back onto the pier and coating Mikey and Frank's hands and faces in a fine seawater mist. The pontoons cut through the water, slow and heavy at first, and then, picking up speed, the plane tore itself away from the surface. It seemed as though it left half its mass there - it no longer looked like a heavy thing as it glided away, speedy and light, into the distance.

* * *

Ray came back the next day while Mikey was still in Dakar. Gerard had been reading in the living room when he heard the gentle knocking. He peeked out the window, saw Ray, and mentally patted himself on the back for getting dressed that morning.

Ray smiled sheepishly at Gerard. "Sorry to barge in in you for the second time in a row."

"No problem," said Gerard. "I wasn't doing much. Want to come in?"

"Actually, I wondered if you'd be interested in visiting the airfield. I could show you around."

Gerard wrinkled his nose. "I've been to the airport."

"Not the airport's tarmac," said Ray. "It's a small airfield near it, the one we use for training. It's probably where Mikey trained. There isn't a lot to do there, really, but it's pretty and has a nice view of the city."

Gerard hesitated, looking Ray up and down. "Will you show me your aeroplane?"

Ray laughed. "It's just a regular plane. It's the same model they use to fly the mail on the African routes. But sure, I'll show you."

Gerard grinned. "Okay, Ray. Take me out."

He caught the start of a blush on Ray's cheeks as he turned to grab his hat and jacket from the living room where he'd dropped them the last time he went out, three days ago. Gerard darted to the mirror on the mantelpiece, patting his hair down and making sure the hat didn't look stupid. Glancing around the room, he saw his pocket sketchbook on the table and grabbed that, too.

"What do you do with your paintings?" Ray asked as they set off in the direction of the bus stop.

"They're mostly commissions, so I either send them to clients, or they pick them up. Sometimes I send them to galleries. I want to organize a show," said Gerard, picking up steam, "but there's never enough time. Although I have enough pieces, probably."

"Do you just do landscapes? The oozy ones?"

Gerard shrugged and kicked a pebble that was underfoot. "I do them a lot because the scenery's fantastic here, you know? And the way Mikey talks about what he sees makes me think of everything that could be there, but we just don't see it. If I saw some of that hidden stuff in person, I think I could really figure out some new things to say that are kind of in me right now, but I’m not sure how to express if that makes sense."

Ray nodded, and Gerard continued, thoughts knocking over each other. "When we were little, I used to tell Mikey stories about monsters hiding in everyday things, so now I can't help but imagine that they're lying in wait below, just waiting for someone to fall into their jaws."

"That's pretty morbid." With anyone else, Gerard would have bristled at that, but Ray's voice was mild and colored with faint admiration, the same way it was yesterday, and it was more like he understood.

They reached the bus stop. It was mid-morning, and the street was nearly deserted. Gerard shaped his hand over the post of the shelter, the heat of the sun-warmed metal seeping into his skin. The red paint was peeling, exposing the faded and even more chipped red paint below.

"I've never thought about monsters when I flew," said Ray, "but now I probably will."

"Sorry," said Gerard, turning his face away from Ray and studying the pole closer, peeling away a strip of paint. It looked so bright on his skin. "Mikey and me, we were morbid kids and grew up into morbid adults. Well, I did. Mikey just humors me, I think. Now, at least."

"No!" said Ray quickly. "It would probably make boring flights more fun. Like a game."

Gerard smiled, still hiding his face. "I didn't think it was ever boring."

"Honestly, they are sometimes. There's always an hour in the middle, even two if the weather's good, when I'm just begging for _something_ to happen. I flew the route from New York to San Francisco for a while, and up until the Rockies it was pretty boring."

Gerard turned and leaned against the pole, smiling up at Ray. "I guess the States are flatter than here."

Ray smiled back and took a step toward him. His hair swayed forward, and Gerard bit his lip. It was so endearing. "It's partly that and partly that they put up guiding lights for planes. You'd just steer from point A to point B over and over. No challenge in that unless you ran into bad weather. Then you'd have to shake yourself out of a stupor to deal with it."

The bus came rattling up behind them, just as empty inside as the street. They got seats in the back. Gerard wiggled against the uncomfortable cushions and laughed at Ray doing the same thing. "You're not used to these buses."

"I don't think anyone could be."

Gerard giggled again. "They're not so bad." He glanced out the window. This was still the familiar part of the route that he always took to the market, the back-and-forth descent down the hill to the center of town. He hardly ever went farther. That was Mikey's trip.

Ray seemed to sense some of Gerard's discomfort. "Everything all right?"

Gerard shrugged. "Just been a while since I went this way."

"You'll like it," said Ray. "There are lots of possible ooze placements on the airfield."

Gerard laughed, loud and startled, making the bus driver jump. "I'll keep that in mind."

They went quiet after that. Gerard rolled his head against the window, resting his cheek on the glass, watching the houses go by, first more frequent until they reached the square and then again more space until they were truly in the country. He could see Ray's reflection watching him, his eyes tracing his profile. Gerard self-consciously brushed a strand of hair off his neck, and Ray's eyes snapped to his in the glass, making Gerard shiver.

He closed his eyes for a just a moment and only opened them when Ray shook his shoulder gently. "Gerard? We're here."

Gerard sat up and rubbed the side of his neck. "Damn, sorry. I didn't mean to doze off."

Ray laughed quietly. "That's okay. Come on."

The bus lurched and stopped, and Gerard swayed, trying not to fall over. Ray grabbed on to the back of a seat and threw his arm around Gerard's waist. "Thanks," muttered Gerard. "These buses."

It smelled like countryside away from the bus, fresh grass and manure and exhaust all mixed together into one smell that made Gerard take deep lungfuls of air. Next to him, Ray took a deep breath, too, and smiled at Gerard, meeting his eyes for a long moment.

The airfield was a mile's walk away along an unpaved road. Gerard took off his jacket and thumbed open the top button of his shirt, instantly feeling ten degrees cooler.

"The airport's a couple of miles that way," said Ray, waving his hand at the sparse trees lining the right side of the road. Through the gaps between them, Gerard could see the familiar building in the distance and a plane just taking off from a runway. He grabbed Ray's hand and stopped. Without the crunch of gravel under their feet, he could just make out the droning of the plane's engine under the singing of the cicadas in the trees.

"That's pretty close," said Gerard after the noise of plane faded. He dropped Ray's hand and started walking again.

"It's convenient," said Ray. "There's a road connecting this airfield to the airport. I usually just take a motorbike to get from one to the other."

Gerard nodded and flexed his hand, stretching his fingers out. It tingled a little. Ahead of them were the half-dozen scattered little structures that apparently made up the airfield. He eyed them, trying to figure what each of them was for. "This is where Mikey trained. I've only been here once, and I'm pretty sure I didn't remember anything he told me then."

Ray laughed. "The biggest two are the hangars. That one on the left has equipment, and the one between them is for personnel and trainees. There's a break room there and lockers and things. The others are for equipment, too. There's a garage behind them as well."

"That where your bike is?" asked Gerard.

Ray nodded. "That and a bunch of cars and a lawnmower."

"That's an impressive ground fleet," said Gerard, and Ray laughed. 

They were there. The tarmac was faintly cracked all over, little blades of grass bursting through the fractures. It looked like a deserted little airport, an airfield that has grown out of its job and most of whose planes had abandoned it. But the buildings had a fresh coat of paint on them, shining white almost painfully in the sun, and there were bright planes off to the side where the tarmac was refinished. It looked... friendly. Gerard wanted to get the pencils out of his pocket and sit down right there in the middle of the concrete field, sketch the resilient grass from up close.

"If you want to draw, you can," said Ray with quiet amusement in his voice.

Gerard jumped. "How did you -- oh." He was thumbing the sketchbook in his pocket, dragging his thumb across the wire spiral. "You don't mind?"

"As long as you show me after." Ray touched Gerard's elbow. "Let me just show you around first? I don't have to work today - that's why I asked you to come - but I need to get a few things from my office."

Ray's office was a separate room off the kitchenette in the personnel building. It wasn't lived-in at all. There were papers scattered all over the desk, and there were clearly files in the cabinets. A glass of daisies on the windowsill, a sweater carelessly thrown on a chair. But no trinkets, no model planes like Gerard had seen in some of Mikey's colleagues' offices. Gerard wondered what it would look like in a year, how Ray would transform this space.

Ray rummaged through a file on his chair and grimaced. "Gerard, sorry, this will take a couple of minutes."

"That's okay," said Gerard and gingerly moved the jacket on the chair by the wall aside. "I'm in no hurry."

Ray threw him an absent smile and started to write a letter, scribbling hurriedly. Gerard curled up in the chair and opened his sketchbook. He could draw grass later. Now he wanted to draw this place, the way the light hit the dusty window and the water stains on the jar of flowers. He drew in charcoal but greedily memorized all the colors, the faint green tint of the water and the dying yellow centers of the daisies.

The sound of paper being crumpled made Gerard look at Ray again. He was pursing his lips and frowning down at a fresh piece of paper. The light was hitting his cheek in funny scalloped shapes through the curtain of his hair. The eye covered by the patch was shadowed, making the lines of his face even brighter by contrast. Gerard caught his breath at the look of concentration on Ray's face and flipped over the page, quickly sketching in the crease in Ray's forehead, the set of his full lips, the softness under his chin, and the line of his jaw. 

Ray signed the form he'd been working on with a flourish and jumped up from his chair. Gerard looked up, startled, and closed his sketchbook.

"All done," said Ray. "You, too?"

"Yeah," said Gerard guiltily. He didn't really like drawing unsuspecting people. Sometimes they noticed, and Gerard felt awkward, like he'd caught them doing something private and rubbed it in their face. "Your flowers. I drew them."

Ray looked where Gerard was pointing. "Oh. I can't even remember how old those are. We have a cleaning staff here, but it seems they forgot to throw those out."

Gerard laughed. "I just don't bother with flowers. I always forget."

"You have a really nice house regardless," said Ray, grabbing the bouquet out of the jar and throwing it into the trash bin.

"Thanks," said Gerard proudly. "I was pretty bored when we moved down from Paris for Mikey's flight school, so I learned to do, you know," Gerard waved his hand. "Cooking and cleaning and all of that."

Ray opened the door for him and waved Gerard through it. Gerard threw him a little smile and stepped out onto the tarmac again.

"I would have thought you'd welcome more time to paint," said Ray. "Fewer distractions."

Gerard shook his head. "Mikey's not a distraction. It's distracting when he's not there. We're only three years apart, you know, and we didn't spent much time away from each other until I went to art school, and I went home on the weekends anyway. It took me a while to get used to it."

"You seem to do okay," Ray said, walking on ahead to the fleet of planes.

"Now. I've learned," said Gerard. 

"I'm close to my brother, too," said Ray. "I miss him. It's hard without family."

Gerard nodded, trying to swallow a sudden lump in his throat, stupid because he missed his mom and dad, but he didn't _miss_ them, not in the way where he needed them to get by. Mikey was always there, of course, even now when he was five thousand kilometers away. 

Luckily, they'd come up to one of the shining white planes. From up close, Gerard could see the imperfections in the finish, pebbled dents in the paint and lighter places where rust had been carefully scraped off and repainted.

He glanced at Ray from under his hair. "This one's yours?"

Ray nodded and rubbed his neck, fidgety. "What do you think?"

Gerard pushed his hair off his face and ran a hand over the fuselage. "It's nice. Looks pretty light. Some of them are kind of clunky."

Ray gave him a big smile, and Gerard smiled back. "This one seats four. You can carry a navigator and a mechanic and even a passenger. Or extra freight."

Gerard nodded. He wasn't that interested in plane talk, but this bird was pretty, so light that it looked like it didn't need fuel or the engine or a runway, like it could just take off from where it sat, like a dragonfly from a lily pad.

"Do you mind if I draw some?" asked Gerard, pulling his sketchbook out again and waving it in the air.

Ray bit his lip, trying not to smile. Gerard knew that expression when it was aimed at him, but he couldn't work up any annoyance about it. Instead, he flopped down cross-legged on the concrete. It was warm, heated through by the summer sun, and he unbuttoned the next button on his shirt and pushed his hair off his face again, flipping to a fresh page.

Ray watched Gerard for a while and then started working on the plane, opening some kind of panel in the fuselage and digging in. Gerard turned his attention to the grass growing through the cracks, sketched out a clump of dandelions and a tiny daisy and then the longest of the cracks, the one that ran from where he sat to the chassis of the plane. He leaned down, bringing his face almost down to the ground, so close that he felt the trapped heat on his cheeks. From here the crack looked like a canyon, shards of concrete crumbling down the sides.

He lay down on his stomach and sketched, barely noticing the sun beating down on him and that his shirt was sticking to his back with sweat. He drew pages of the jagged crack from up close, bigger than real life. He thought he might draw it later in a larger-scale landscape, maybe the mountains, cutting through stone with its ragged edges.

He filled up half the sketchbook with the drawings until his bones ached from lying on the concrete. He sat up with a groan and looked up, blinking to focus his eyes on things not two inches from his face. Ray was still doing something with the plane, crouched down by the chassis. Gerard sketched him, too, and then, feeling awkward again, did a few of the plane.

He got distracted by some mechanics working on a plane off to the side and then by a car coming up the drive. He kept sketching until a shadow fell over his paper. Gerard looked up. It was Ray grinning down at him. He had a smudge of dirt on his neck, and his hair was everywhere. Gerard fought the instinct to close and hide his sketchbook.

"I thought you might be running out of paper. You looked engrossed."

Gerard shoved his hair out of his face again - he really needed a haircut - and smiled down at the last sketch. "There's a lot to see here. Sorry I didn't keep you company."

"No problem," said Ray. "I always thought this place looked interesting."

"Did you bring me here so I could draw?" Gerard looked at Ray with his mouth open. "I'm not sure anyone's ever taken me anywhere specifically for that."

Ray's cheeks looked a little pink. "I just thought you might like it." His eyes flickered between Gerard's eyes and the sketchbook.

"I do like it," said Gerard, getting to his feet. He bent backwards a little, cracking his back. "Thanks."

"The concrete's not the best place to sit on."

"Well," shrugged Gerard. "Drawing outside's rarely comfortable. I'm used to it."

Ray's eyes went oddly serious, and Gerard wanted to fill the gap in the conversation, but he felt like he was swaying towards Ray a little, like he needed to lean back to resist it. "Do you want to see?" he said finally.

"Sure," said Ray, still looking at Gerard. Gerard gave Ray the sketchbook, stomach fluttering strangely at the thought of what he might say at the ones of himself. Ray didn't say anything, though, just threw Gerard a quick look from under his eyelashes and took longer to flip through that page than the others. Gerard felt stupid standing there watching Ray and took a few steps away, looking around the airfield. The sky was slightly cooler now that it was nearing sunset. Gerard wondered where Mikey was, why he wasn't in the air already, when he'd get home.

The sound of Ray's footsteps broke Gerard's train of thought. "You're really good."

Gerard smiled. "You like them?"

"You should draw from up in the air. I could take you some time."

Gerard turned his head and looked up at Ray. "That would be nice. Mikey has this plan that he'll take me someday, but it'll probably be years until it can happen."

"Who knows. It could be sooner than you think."

Gerard shrugged. "I'm glad Mikey has this. I don't know if this is what he's meant to be doing with his life, but he likes it, and he loves that he's doing something, you know?"

"He should be proud he's doing this," said Ray.

"I'm proud enough for ten people, I think," Gerard said sheepishly and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "He probably doesn't think much of it. He just does it."

It was quieter than ever on the tarmac. The mechanics that had been working around them had left, and a few people were walking down the lane in the direction of the bus stop. "What time is it?" Gerard asked. "It must be getting pretty late."

Oh," said Ray. "Yes. We should probably go. Can I take you home?"

Gerard felt his cheeks get hot and willed himself to stop blushing. It was ridiculous. "If you don't have anything better to do."

"No," said Ray with a quiet laugh as he took Gerard's elbow. "Absolutely nothing better."

* * *

Mikey put the hashish in his pocket. Frank was still watching the plane. "Funny to think he's going all that way in the right direction, but he's still going to be as far from home as us."

Mikey smiled. "He can get home from there more easily than we can."

"Yeah. Do you miss it?"

Mikey shrugged. "I miss my mom. I don't really miss Belleville."

"Me neither," said Frank. "I missed my girl for a while after I left, but we dropped each other before that anyway."

Mikey never knew what to say when Frank talked about her, so he shrugged one shoulder and turned his head to look at the sky. The plane was barely a speck in the distance now, only visible because of the sun glinting off its wings.

"I haven't missed her in a while," Frank added. "Not for a couple of years."

Mikey's stomach lurched. "We have some time before takeoff, right? Want to go to town?"

"Sure," said Frank after a pause. "We should eat, anyway, and you wanted to get Gerard those buns."

When they returned, it was nearing sunset. At the airline office, Mikey once again hung back as Frank argued with the same dispatcher that was on duty the night before.

"Bird we were supposed to get is late," he told Mikey brusquely when he returned. "It's on the way, but it'll be another hour."

"With the time it'll take to service it, we won't get home until nearly dawn. Gerard's going to be upset."

"Fucking night flights," spit Frank. "This wasn't supposed to be one."

Mikey didn't reply. Night flights were stressful, yeah, but some things about them were even more special than the thrill of daytime flight, gliding through the darkness with nothing but stars around him, nothing but the wind to show that the planet was below them.

"Did you feel that breeze pick up? You'll be fighting that on your way out," Frank said.

Mikey nodded. "There's no storm, though. We'll manage."

Frank pressed his lips together and relaxed them, visibly trying and failing to let go of his frustration. Mikey found it a little endearing. He was so far gone. "Want to sit on the tarmac like delinquents and smoke?" Mikey asked with a slight smile.

Frank stared at Mikey. "You haven't had enough tobacco for a year?"

Mikey had, but he wasn't going to admit it. "I know you haven't. I'll watch."

They found a niche in the wall of the building with a good view of the runway and the aircraft prep area. Frank dropped his bag on the ground and sat down next to it, bending his knees and leaning back against the white-washed wall. "Fuck, it's hot," he groaned, rolling up his sleeves and pushing his hips up to fish the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Mikey's mouth went dry, and he desperately wanted to hide his face, but he couldn't stop looking. Frank looked up at Mikey through the hair falling in his eyes. "Got a light, Mikes?"

Mikey got his matchbox out and dropped to his knees in front of Frank, striking a match and leaning forward. Frank's face was really close, and his eyelashes were really long and dark.

"Thanks," said Frank hoarsely.

Mikey cleared his throat and pulled back. The way Frank was looking at him made his cheeks feel warm and heat pool in his stomach. He wondered if Frank did it on purpose and if he'd ever stop making Mikey feel so unsettled and confused.

"Mikey?" Frank's voice was quiet. "Come sit down."

Mikey sat down next to Frank, almost but not quite touching. He felt Frank's arm right by his own and imagined how the bright colors of Frank’s tattoos must look next to his pale skin. 

"These damn buns are going to go stale," he commented glumly. He looked at Frank out of the corner of his eye, watched his mouth on the filter.

"Gerard is still going to like them," said Frank as he ashed on the pavement, reaching out in one abrupt movement and resting his forearm, the bare one, on his knee. "He'd probably like it if you brought him rocks."

Mikey gave Frank a perfunctory shove in the ribs. The paper packet with the buns was in his bag, next to the hashish. Gerard didn't usually get that many presents all at once. He probably would still like them.

The sun was setting again in front of them, sinking slowly into the ocean. There was a haze in the air, so the sun was bloated and stretched out of shape, a rich dark orange blob sinking into the golden water like an egg being poached. It was beautiful, but Mikey didn't quite like the look of it. He knew Frank didn't either, but they'd be going northeast, not west. He wondered how Gabe was getting on outrunning the sunset. It was an unwinnable race, every time. The sun was still bright above him, but he'd get behind it soon enough. Every flight west was a night flight for him.

Mikey pursed his lips, suddenly worried. "Do you think Gabe'll run into any weather?"

Frank made a dismissive noise. "If not today, then next time."

"Not comforting, Frank."

"That's not what Gabe's looking for. You're the one who needs it, and you'll be fine."

Mikey's mouth twisted. "You think I'm not okay with the risks?"

"I didn't say that, but you don't just fly, Mikey. You're always focused on landing."

"I have to," said Mikey. "I can't not return."

Frank grabbed his hand and tugged on it, so Mikey would look at him. "That's what I mean. The rest of us, the ones who haven't got kids, anyway, mostly just think about flying."

"You don't just think about flying."

"That's pretty much all I have, though."

"You have me and Gerard. And Ray, now."

Frank shrugged. "Not like you have each other."

Mikey huffed, annoyed. "Don't be an idiot, Frank. It's not a contest."

Frank took one last drag of his cigarette and put it out on the concrete, not saying anything.

"Besides," said Mikey, "you'd better be trying hard to get back on the ground. We fly together."

A small smile pulled at the corner of Frank's mouth. "I guess we do. Don't worry, Mikey Way, I'll make sure you land."

"Oh, shut up."

Frank smoked another cigarette and then another as they waited. It was almost dark now, and the first stars were coming out. There was still a strong breeze, sea-scented and damp. The planes taking off were just vague shapes anchored by the light of their lamps coasting down the runway. It began to cool down.

The plane they were going to fly to Toulouse was stopped off to the side, illuminated by electric lamps along the perimeter of the airport building. It looked bigger casting multiple crisscrossing shadows on the ground. The mechanic had walked away. It had already been refueled, and the porter was loading the waiting mail. Frank stood and brushed off, wincing and stretching his legs. "Let's go, huh?"

Mikey stretched his hand out to him, and Frank took it, pulling Mikey up off the ground. Mikey stumbled into him, almost knocking them over, and Frank put his hands on Mikey's shoulders to steady him. "Hey, easy there. Don't break your neck."

"Thanks," Mikey muttered and took a step back, breaking Frank's hold on him. Spending less time with Frank had been working, but this trip was knocking him off-balance.

To distract himself and focus on the journey before them, Mikey lit the plane's lamps and even threw the last mail bag into the plane, stretching up to push it through the door. He slammed the door securely shut and looked around to see what Frank was doing. He was watching him and pulling on his gloves. His helmet and goggles were already on.

Mikey hopped up into the cockpit, and Frank got in behind him. Mikey took another look towards the ocean even though he couldn't see it anymore, or even hear it over the noise of the engine and propeller.

"Ready?" asked Mikey.

Frank nodded.

This late, the entry to the runway was only indicated by pale glowing lamps. Once there, it was completely dark, but Mikey knew it by heart. He picked up speed, and they were lifted up, soaring out west from the coast.

The sea breeze, forceful enough below, was a strong current here, and the plane was an invasive presence, but Mikey didn't have to fight it too much. He hoped they'd cut free of it heading north. Frank tapped him twice on the arm to indicate how far to turn to skirt the coast, and Mikey tilted the yoke, sending the plane into a smooth turn.

For a while they sliced through the current with no issue, but about an hour north the dampness in the wind began to coalesce into ragged clouds both above and below them, hiding the crescent moon from view and periodically plunging them into darkness. 

Mikey set his jaw. The darkness was bad enough, but the current turned stronger and twisted, pushing the plane inland. They were not yet so far north that there was anything to see below but the occasional light that might be a coastal village or a camp in the desert. There would be no beacons for at least another hour. Mikey threw a look at Frank, whom he could barely see by the light at his controls, and tilted his head in question. Frank nodded, and Mikey bore left, trying to correct course. The plane trembled under them and obeyed.

Now they were cutting through the current more easily, perhaps too easily. The first two hours of the journey north were a precise curve; going too far west meant being lost at sea and too far east meant running out of fuel in the middle of the Sahara. With cloud cover, no moon to glint off the surface of the ocean, no airport with radio to guide them, and no useful instruments, that fine curve was impossible to follow. Instinct and practice were all they had.

They flew in an approximation of that curve, as best as they could, for another hour, reaching the edge of the current that had thrown them. The plane was no longer shuddering but glided into the darkness as smoothly as Mikey could wish.

Frank sent out a radio call every few minutes, but there was no answer. They should have started to see beacons below. They may have been obscured by the clouds, but they'd still be within radio reach if they were there. With no stars, it felt like they were in a void.

Mikey curved in toward his best guess of where the land was and looked at Frank to see if he agreed. Frank's face was that mask from before, the impenetrable expression, but he nodded at Mikey and tapped the radio again, looking to his right for any sight of settlement. Their conversation from that evening popped into Mikey's head. He felt with no shred of uncertainty that however much Frank may have believed what he'd said about landings, right now a safe landing was all Frank wanted.

Mikey leaned over the side of the door and started watching the ground carefully for a beacon or the telltale shimmer of water. The clouds below them were gone, but the moon was popping in and out of view above them. Mikey was staring into blackness, bracing his neck against the wind.

It was nearly mindless, this task, and Mikey's head started filling up with thoughts he'd usually not have flying. He wanted to go home, home to Gerard, with Frank; he wanted Frank to make him a promise and to make a promise back.

Then, suddenly, the cloud cover above them thinned. The moon cast a pale glow on the plane, reflecting radiantly off the metal. Mikey felt the moonlight on the side of his face like a cool tender touch, an enticement to look up, to go _there_. The empty crackle of the radio focused him. This was the moment to look down, not toward the stars, to watch carefully, and soon his eyes adjusted enough to see the shine of the crest of a wave, and then another wave behind it, and another, an immense row of shallow ripples, spaced widely at first and narrow in the distance, disappearing behind the curvature of the Earth.

At least he knew for sure, then. He pulled back into the cabin and touched Frank's arm, yelling, "Water." Frank frowned and jerked his hand for Mikey to bear east. Somewhere east was land, but there was no way to know at what angle or how far it was, if they would find the right trajectory to get them there before their fuel ran out. 

They floated. They tried each point of light to the east unveiled by the lifting of the clouds one after another, Frank tapping the radio every time, but they were fake beacons, stars.

They had an hour of fuel left. Mikey swore to himself that if there was an airport they could find and land at within that time, he would never bring up safety and luck with Frank again or disagree with him about night flights.

Suddenly there was a faint crackle from the radio, a signal within the noise. Mikey took his right hand off the controls and gripped Frank's hand. Frank gripped back, painfully, and tried the radio again and again as they moved closer to the source of the signal. Mikey hoped it was closer, not parallel, but finally, with a burst of static that was painful even over the rushing of the wind, the radio spit out a response. 

They hadn't strayed far after all, circling off the coast just out of reach. Frank yelled at the radio to lead them to land. The radio responded with a terrifying silence and then gave them a reply that Mikey couldn't parse. This was Frank's job, now. Mikey just steered as Frank said.

Frank put his mouth to Mikey's ear and yelled something. Mikey could barely make it out, but he caught the word "Cisneros." His stomach swooped. That was in the center of Spain, and they'd be lucky if they had fuel enough to reach the Spanish coast. Perhaps they could land in the water, Mikey thought frantically, perhaps there was a boat nearby or a seaplane that could meet them.

He shouted this in Frank's ear, and Frank shook his head vigorously, scribbling something down on a piece of paper, jabbing the pencil in hard enough to rip the paper in a few places. He held it up in front of Mikey's face. The edges of the paper flapped in the wind, but Mikey could read, "Fuel tanks bigger standard. 2hrs of fuel."

The shudder of relief that rippled through Mikey's body almost made his arms go limp and lose his grip on the yoke, but Frank must've felt him because he put his hand on Mikey's, helping him grip, and yelled something in his ear again. He directed, and Mikey flew, and soon they saw more lights below, strung along the Spanish coastline like a carelessly thrown necklace. Soon after that they left them behind, flying towards the lights of bigger cities.

Soon enough Cisneros was bright before them. The airport was a dim glow at its outskirts, and the runway start even dimmer, indicated by two lamps at each side of the strip, but it looked brighter than anything to Mikey. They landed at Cisneros with a thud of the chassis against pavement and a thud of _Gerard_ into Mikey's heart. It was a pleased, sleepy welcome after a long absence at first and then a sick frantic knot in Mikey's heart that Mikey knew wasn't his own. He pushed it aside as he led the plane over to refuel.

They stopped. Frank threw his arms around Mikey, and Mikey hugged back, ripping his goggles off and burying his face in Frank's neck and laughing. They made it.

Frank pushed Mikey's collar aside and pressed his face to Mikey's neck, too. "Your nose is cold," mumbled Mikey and clung closer for a moment, until an attendant came up to start the refueling, and a woman in the Aéropostale uniform shouted at them to come down.

Mikey leaned over the side of the door. "Thanks for letting us land here outside schedule," he said in broken Spanish. He'd been meaning to brush up for ages.

She shook her head. "We're glad you made it," she said in near-perfect French. "You were not the only plane to get lost in that wind tonight."

"Did everyone make it?" asked Mikey, getting out of the cockpit. His knees were stiff, but he felt awkward about stretching in front of a lady. She smirked as if she knew what he was thinking. She probably did; they were hardly the first pilots she'd seen after a bad flight.

"Everyone did. As far as we here know."

Frank cut in, sliding over into Mikey's seat and leaning down. "Miss, we'd really like to get this mail to Toulouse as soon as we can. Are you keeping us grounded until daylight, or can we leave now?"

She looked at Frank steadily. "A plane of ours just made it over to Toulouse, and the weather appears to be fine, but we're holding you here until nearer dawn. Another hour or two, gentlemen."

She turned and left, heels clicking on the concrete. Mikey looked up at Frank. "Want to sit out here or what?" he asked.

Frank shrugged. "I'm going to fall asleep anywhere. Might as well do it here."

"You're not sick of sitting in that thing?"

"I told you, Mikey," said Frank quietly. "I'm pretty much never sick of it."

Mikey both understood and didn't. When he flew, he loved it, but when he was on the ground, he didn't much want to be with the plane. He didn't hang around the airport like other aviators, living and breathing plane exhaust.

"You should go sit down somewhere," Frank added, more gently than Mikey usually heard him be. "I know you need to think."

Mikey smiled up at him. "Okay, Frankie."

He wandered away from the plane toward the airport building. He'd been to Cisneros before but not in a while. The building looked like it had been renovated recently, Mikey saw with satisfaction. He always liked signs of airports doing well.

At two in the morning, the airport was deserted and dimly lit, only slightly brighter than the night outside. The lounge for pilots was a partially screened-off part of the airline office. The woman from earlier sat at the desk reading a novel by the light of a table lamp that splashed a yellow glow across her face and the desk, a sharp demarcation between light and dark. The radio was playing quietly. Her long dark hair shaded her eyes, making them seem so dark she looked made up almost like a film star, white skin and black eyeshadow.

Mikey looked at her for a moment and went into the lounge instead. Its windows faced the tarmac, and Mikey could see their plane parked a couple hundred meters away. It was too shadowed to make out Frank inside. He was probably too small to see anyway.

Mikey sat down in a corner with a view of the windows. He wouldn't fall asleep. The adrenaline had flooded out of him, but he was still wide awake and barely feeling tired. The low-grade burning fear from before drained away, too. It wasn’t the first time something had gone wrong with his flight, but Mikey knew that he was lucky to have gone two years without a problem. Now that it was over, he was strangely all right with it.

Gerard was not all right with it. Mikey took a deep breath and looked into that tenseness he'd pushed out of the way moments after they landed. It was less acute than before, less anguish than worry. Mikey tried to project _calm calm calm_ back at Gerard. It refracted, but part of it was absorbed. Mikey sighed and continued until he drifted off into half-awareness of anything but their tangled feelings.

He jerked awake when he felt someone touch his shoulder. It was the woman. Up close, she looked less like a movie star and more like a normal girl. She was tired and hours away from her shift ending. "Sorry!" she said in English remorsefully. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Mikey blinked and sat up. He'd fallen asleep after all, half-lying in chair. He had a crick in his neck. "You're American?"

She smiled slightly. "I am. I didn't realize you were until I contacted Toulouse."

Mikey stood up and shook her hand. "Mikey Way."

"Alicia Simmons." She held his eyes for a moment and then looked toward the window. "You can take off in a few minutes. It's thirty minutes to dawn, and you'll have good light by the time you reach the mountains.

Mikey looked out the window, too. The plane was still there, and Frank was already awake, leaning against the side of the plane and smoking.

"Mr. Iero seems ready to go," said Miss Simmons. "He was in here about ten minutes ago but didn't want to wake you up."

Mikey wanted to talk more to Miss Simmons, ask her where she was from and how she ended up in Spain, but it was almost dawn and almost two days since he left. It was time to go. It was always time to leave and hardly ever time to stay. 

She looked at him knowingly but just said, "I'll walk you out," and moved to leave the room first. Mikey scrambled to catch up, trying not to stare at her skirt and the seam of her stockings.

Frank was still only half-done with his cigarette by the time they walked out onto the tarmac. He pursed his lips when he saw them. There were shadows under his eyes, and all of it, everything Frank was, made Mikey's heart thump so hard he thought it would beat through his chest and splatter on the ground, red and exposed for everyone to see.

"Well," said Miss Simmons. "It was nice to meet you both."

Frank nodded. "Likewise."

"I hope we come this way again sometime, Miss Simmons," said Mikey.

"Alicia," she said. "And so do I, provided it's under better circumstances."

Mikey shook her hand again and got in the plane. The runway was right there, and home was an hour away. Alicia waved to them as Mikey took the plane away, and then they flew and left her there, a friend where there was none before.

* * *

Gerard's heart was still hammering from the Cisneros landing when he heard voices outside, and Frank saying, muffled, "I'll make myself scarce." Mikey said something quietly in response, and the kitchen door shut.

Gerard pulled the blanket over himself more securely, running his fingers through the tangled fringe. He was curled up on the end of the living room couch. He heard Mikey's footsteps in the hallway, and then Mikey appeared, like he always did, except this time was different, and Gerard didn't know what to say.

"Hey," Mikey said and sat down next to Gerard, putting his arms around him. "I could feel you fretting for the past hour."

Gerard laughed on a sob and buried his face in Mikey's shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

Mikey stroked his hair. He smelled like an entire tobacco shop and days of sweat, but Gerard didn't mind. "It really wasn't so bad."

Gerard pulled away indignantly. "Not that bad?" he asked, sniffing and rooting around in his pocket for a handkerchief. "You could've drowned in the _ocean_."

"Sorry," said Mikey and hugged him harder.

"You almost died."

Mikey shrugged, jamming his shoulder into Gerard's nose. "But I didn't."

Gerard twitched his nose and pressed his face into Mikey's shoulder. "But you _could've_."

"Well, I fly planes for a living," said Mikey into Gerard's hair. "It's going to happen sometimes."

"I don't want it to."

"Gee," Mikey mumbled into his ear. "I'm going to almost die occasionally. It's just going to happen."

"Oh, my god," said Gerard and jumped off the couch, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and staring at Mikey. "That is not what I want to hear."

"Gerard!" said Mikey, following. "I'm sorry. Wait." He reached out a hand and touched Gerard on the shoulder.

Gerard pulled the blanket tighter around himself and stared down at the floor. "I'm not sure you know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night because your heart is hammering, and you can't _breathe_ , and you know something is wrong, and you can't do anything about it."

Mikey slid his arms about Gerard's shoulders carefully and pulled him in. It felt nice. "I just can't stop picturing what it would be like if you'd hit the water," Gerard mumbled. "Would I feel you drown?"

Mikey frowned against his cheek. "I'm going to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen."

Gerard sighed. "It's just... I know exactly how long your flights are. When you don't land on time, I know that, too."

Mikey squeezed him hard. "I miss you when I'm up there."

Gerard didn't know if he could handle it happening again and wanted to argue more, but he heaved one last big sigh and let go of Mikey. "Did you get Frank to stay with us for a while?"

"Yeah. Seemed better than letting him go home alone." Mikey ran his fingers through his hair and stared at his hand. He looked confused.

"You should probably wash that," said Gerard. He liked how Mikey smelled, but Frank probably didn't.

"You're one to talk," said Mikey automatically, still looking at his hand. "There's sand in it. How do I have sand in my hair?"

"You also have the world's supply of tobacco in your hair. I probably won't even need to smoke anymore."

Mikey showed him the finger, and Gerard grinned. "I'm going to say hi to Frank."

The hallway clock chimed six when Gerard left the living room. There was a draught from under the kitchen door, and Gerard gently opened it, peering inside. Frank was hanging out of the open window, standing on tiptoe and balancing his elbows on the windowsill.

"Hey, Frank," said Gerard.

Frank turned his head and shot Gerard a huge smile. "Gee. Have you seen your neighbors' dog?"

Gerard propped his elbows on the windowsill next to Frank. "It doesn't wake you up at five in the morning."

"It's still cute. God, I want a dog. Can't have one with this schedule, though." 

Gerard elbowed Frank in support, and Frank elbowed him back. They stared out the window for a while. The sun was up, but the houses across the street were tall enough to block the morning light on the bottom floor, so the street was still shadowed and cold. The dog ran around near the front door across the street, waiting to be let in.

The plumbing creaked alarmingly, making Frank jump. "That's the bath running," explained Gerard. "Mikey has some kind of sand-in-hair emergency. "

"He has one of those pretty often, and it always surprises him," said Frank. "Did you and Mikey talk?"

Gerard shrugged one shoulder. "He says it's not a big deal."

"It isn't," said Frank.

Gerard groaned. "Do you two even hear yourselves when you say that?"

Frank ruffled Gerard's hair. "He does worry about you, you know."

"I know that." Gerard sighed. It was a little embarrassing to be coddled. "What about you? You've pretty much disappeared. You used to come here all the time."

Frank jerked his shoulders and looked at the dog some more.

"Whatever you're thinking, you don't have to," said Gerard. "You should visit more."

Frank made a noncommittal noise, and Gerard sighed. "Do you want coffee or something? Mikey's going to want some."

"I think I want some sleep if that's okay. Where's your famous guest bedroom?"

"Why's it famous?" asked Gerard, leading Frank out to the stairs.

"Mikey really talked it up," said Frank. "Do you have heads of state stay there?"

Gerard punched Frank in the shoulder and herded him up the stairs. They reached the landing when Mikey came out of the bathroom with lemon-scented steam trailing behind him, his hair wet and dripping water onto his shoulders. His undershirt was damp.

Frank froze for a second. "Scrubbed the Sahara off yourself, have you?"

Mikey tossed his head back, pushing the wet strands of hair off his face. "It's much better. God, I'm tired."

Mikey looked it. The circles under his eyes made Gerard want to yawn. Something about this made this morning seem more normal to Gerard, like the night didn't really happen. "So go to bed. Frank's going. Frank, that's your bedroom over there."

"Right," said Frank, taking a step toward the bedroom and still looking at Mikey. He almost missed the door, catching himself at the last minute.

Gerard closed the door behind Frank. Mikey was rubbing his eyes, and Gerard gently touched Mikey's hands and pulled them away from his face. "Go to bed. Come on."

Mikey yawned in his face and let himself be pushed towards the bedroom. "Lie down with me?"

"Only if you dry your hair."

Mikey stuck his tongue out at Gerard and pulled off his undershirt to rub it over his head. "Happy?"

"Very," said Gerard and crawled into bed with a happy sigh. "I haven't slept since you woke me up."

Mikey stared at Gerard, expressionless, and then poked Gerard in the shoulder until it started to hurt, and Gerard swatted his hand away. "Move over," said Mikey. "It's my bed."

Gerard huffed but moved to the edge of the bed. Mikey climbed in next to him and stole most of the blanket. Gerard tugged the corner over his legs and closed his eyes, picturing an ocean breathing beneath him, endlessly vast and infinitely deep, and himself suspended by an invisible force between it and the stars.

He imagined it silently, picking out the precise glint of moonlight off the rocks below and the sea monsters lurking under the surface of the ocean, and Mikey made a loud exasperated noise and rolled over. "It's impossible to sleep like that, you know."

Gerard breathed in and out. The ocean was still there, just further away, somewhere under the tendrils of anxiousness and relief that were curling outward from his heart. "You know I can't not think about it."

Mikey threaded his fingers with Gerard's. "I know."

"I want to understand what it's like for you."

"I know."

"Not the getting lost part, although that, too. Flying."

Mikey squeezed Gerard's hand. "I'll take you someday. Like we planned."

Gerard smiled at the ceiling. "You'll show me around."

"I'll fly you over our street."

"I've been to our street. I require more exotic sights. I want you to fly me through the mountains."

Mikey inclined his head, touching his forehead to Gerard's shoulder. "You could meet all the pilots I know everywhere, or I could take you to meet this girl we met at Cisneros."

Gerard whipped his head sideways. "What girl?"

"This American girl who works for the airline. You'd like her. She was nice," Mikey mumbled into Gerard's shoulder.

"What about Frank?" Gerard demanded.

"What about him?"

"Stop being so damn squirrely. You know."

Mikey sighed. "I don't know, Gee. I'm tired. It's confusing."

"Okay," said Gerard. He closed his eyes again, this time visualizing a field beneath him, patchy and geometric like in photographs he'd seen, green and sunny and cheerful, and felt Mikey drop off almost instantly. He fell asleep himself soon after.

He woke up hours later. The bed was empty, and the blanket was pulled up to his chin. Sunlight was pouring into the room through the open window, and there were flies buzzing above him. He sat up and stretched. 

The door to the guest room was wide open, and the house was silent. Gerard found Frank and Mikey talking quietly in the garden, sitting with cups of coffee on the bench swing, their bodies angled toward each other.

Gerard watched them from the doorway, not sure whether to stay or go. His head felt blurry and heavy still after his nap, and he was rather hungry. He withdrew from the doorway quietly and went into the kitchen. There was still coffee in the pot, and the grounds were cleaned up from the table, a sure sign of Frank being involved in the process. Gerard poured himself a cup and went outside, this time not lurking in the doorway but sitting down on Mikey's other side, making Frank and Mikey scoot closer to each other to give Gerard room. Gerard leaned his head on Mikey's shoulder, and Mikey ruffled his hair.

"Thanks for letting me stay," said Frank quietly.

Mikey elbowed Frank, jostling Gerard. He made a complaining noise, and Mikey petted his hair again.

"Okay, see if I ever thank you for anything again," Frank said with a poorly-hidden smile in his voice. "I should get home, though. Don't forget to give Gerard his presents, Mikes."

He jumped up, sending the swing flying backwards and making Gerard's feet drag on the ground. "Bye, Mikey." Frank paused and opened his mouth to say something else, but instead he leaned down to hug Mikey. His hair brushed Gerard's cheek, and Gerard felt Mikey rise into Frank's embrace, tensing all over and reluctantly letting go.

When Frank left, not cutting through the house but walking around through the tangled greenery along its side, Gerard said, "You're not going to walk him out?"

Mikey shook his head.

"You shouldn't be scared." Gerard took Mikey's hand and squeezed it. 

"I..." Mikey squeezed his eyes shut. "How do you act like this is no big deal?" He shook his head and stood up. "Okay. I'll be back in a minute."

He caught up with Frank almost out of Gerard's view, halfway down the side of the house where there were just a few feet of distance between the stone wall and the fence, crooked and overtaken by the neighbors' raspberry bushes.

Frank turned when he heard Mikey shoulder his way through the bushes bursting through the fence, looking surprised but pleased. Mikey held an arching branch of raspberry out Frank's way, and they both walked through, disappearing from view.

Gerard took advantage of the vacated swing to stretch out, tipping his head back and digging his toes into the far cushion and blowing his hair out of his face. The yellow sunshade above the bench was too opaque to see the sky, but he could see the shadows from the overhanging branches of the apple tree move and sway with the wind. It seemed to be picking up.

"You stole my spot," said Mikey dryly. "That was the only reason you told me to walk Frank out, wasn't it?"

Gerard turned his head. Mikey was sideways in his vision, his face blank, but Gerard could tell that he was smiling anyway. "You're blushing."

Mikey's lips twitched just a little bit. "He's just... sometimes he looks at me, and it's like I could do anything. But I'd still have to do it."

"You should." Gerard's eyes were closing of their own accord.

"This isn't like Paris and your art world and your patrons," Mikey said, as irritated as he ever got.

"That doesn't matter."

Mikey took in a sharp annoyed breath, and Gerard braced himself for an argument, but Mikey shook his head and was quiet for a while. "You talk like an expert, and I know for a fact you're not, Gee," Mikey said finally. "Let me show you your presents instead."

Gerard sat up quickly, narrowly missing hitting his head on a beam. "What did you bring me?"

Mikey covered his mouth with his hand, hiding his laughter. "I'll bring it down."

He was only gone for a couple of minutes and returned with two parcels, one wrapped in leather and the other in paper. Gerard beamed and stretched his hands out, and Mikey dropped the parcels in his lap with a smirk instead.

The buns in the paper bag smelled amazing. Gerard brought one to his mouth and breathed in the scent of raisins and candied orange zest mixed with just a hint of the sharp smell of yeast. "They're probably stale," said Mikey, chewing on his bottom lip. "I didn't think we'd be so damn late."

"I love them," said Gerard.

"You haven't even tried them."

"Doesn't matter." Gerard took a sip of his coffee, which was barely lukewarm now but still good, and bit off a piece of the bun. It was stale but still tasted amazing. "See, I was right. It's great."

Mikey smiled crookedly and lifted Gerard's legs out of the way, so he could sit, too. Gerard let him sit down and wriggled his toes under Mikey's thigh. Mikey shot him a grumpy look and said, "Open the other one."

Gerard pulled on the end of the cord holding the leather together. It came loose with no effort at all. Gerard shook it out of the way, and the square of leather fell open, revealing a few crumbling greenish briquettes of hashish. Gerard looked at Mikey with his mouth open. "Is that what you do in Dakar, Mikey Way?"

"No, I usually go to brothels." Gerard kicked Mikey's thigh, and Mikey giggled. "We ran into Gabe Saporta. It was his parting gift."

"No shit," said Gerard, staring at the hashish. "Let's smoke it at our picnic."

"I think he would approve of that."

"We can have it two weeks from now and invite Frank. And Ray."

"Ray?" Mikey suddenly sounded like he was paying five times as much attention to this conversation as before. "Frank's friend Ray Toro, Ray?"

Gerard tried not to squirm or look away, but from Mikey's sharp look, it seemed he hadn't succeeded. "You invited him to come over, and he did."

"And?"

"And then he came over again yesterday. And took me to see the airfield he works at."

"Uh-huh."

The silence seemed unbearably uncomfortable to Gerard. "He's nice. Also, shut up, you wouldn't say anything when I asked you about that girl and Frank."

"I'm not saying anything now."

"Mikey."

Mikey sighed and patted Gerard's foot. "I'm glad you made a friend."

"You'll like him, too," said Gerard, leaning forward and hugging Mikey, awkwardly maneuvering around his own knees. Mikey hesitated for a second and then leaned into the hug. "I'm so glad you're back."

* * *

Two weeks later, they lay on the slope of the hill above their house. It was July, and even the breeze was warm.

"If you weren't so lazy, you could go to the house and grab something to weigh these blankets down," said Frank, kicking off his shoes and nudging them onto the last of the corners flapping in the wind. "And then we could keep our shoes on."

"It's too far away," yawned Gerard, stretching luxuriously on his own blanket, which was weighed down at each corner with his shoes, hat, jacket, and sketchbook and only stayed put because he'd put it in the middle of a patch of tall grass that shielded it from the wind.

"It's _right there_ ," said Frank, stabbing the air with his index finger.

"Seems far when you're climbing up this damn hill."

"He's not going to do it, Frankie," said Mikey, hiding a smile.

"I know," said Frank and sat down on his blanket, wiggling his toes. "Toro, what are you doing over there?"

Ray came over with two bottles of lemonade and sat down a careful two inches away from Gerard, nudging one of the bottles towards him.

"Oh, _Gerard_ gets lemonade. I see how I rate," said Frank. Ray grinned, unfazed, and Gerard blushed so faintly that Mikey only noticed because he was watching.

"I'm going to make sandwiches," said Mikey and jumped up from his spot on Gerard's other side, kicking his way out of the grass. The picnic basket sat where they'd abandoned it, near some brambles a little higher up the hill, almost out of earshot in another stretch of tall grasses that came up almost to knee height.

The latch was stuck. It took Mikey a few attempts at yanking and then coaxing to loosen it, and when he looked up, Frank was there. He crouched across from Mikey and grinned at him, pushing up his sleeves. Mikey tried not to look. There seemed to be a new tattoo. He had no idea where Frank got them or when.

"You having fun, Mikey Way?" asked Frank.

Mikey shot Frank a tiny smile and reached into the basket. "Oh," he said, blinking at the contents.

"What's wrong?" asked Frank.

"Gerard already made sandwiches. They're all in here. Wrapped and everything."

Frank giggled. "Yeah, I saw him making them. He is a domestic goddess."

Mikey frowned at Frank who quickly added, "And that's great."

Mikey frowned again and took out a few sandwiches and a container of berries from their garden. There had been just enough ripe ones to fill a couple of small jars. The crushed ones made the whole jar smell amazing, rich and jammy like summer turning towards autumn. Mikey popped a gooseberry into his mouth, wincing at the burst of sour flavor on his tongue as he bit through the fleshy outer shell.

Frank shuffled a little closer to Mikey. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

"That's okay." Mikey looked at Gerard, his messy brown hair falling in strands around his face, smiling wide and happy at something Ray was saying, tilting his chin at what he knew was his best angle. Mikey had seen Gerard like that before a couple of times, once with the patron back in Paris and once in Belleville just before they left. It always made his stomach sink, even though it had never made Gerard pay less attention to him. It might, in the future.

Mikey turned back to Frank. From here, facing the city, he could see so far, miles and miles of town and countryside, all disappearing into a colorless haze veiling the horizon. It was almost as good as flying above it - not as high but more still and no distracting wind or noise aside from the rustling of trees above his head.

Frank tipped forward onto his knees and threw himself face-first into the grass with a loud satisfied sigh. Mikey stared down at the line of Frank's small body, shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and wide back, his pale neck with the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the collar. Mikey glanced in Ray and Gerard's direction and touched Frank's shoulder with just the tips of his fingers like he'd wanted for months. Frank turned his head a fraction and looked at Mikey with one eye. There was already a crisscrossing imprint on his cheek, so pink from being pressed against the damp depths of the grass.

"Come down here," Frank whispered.

Mikey helplessly lay down next to Frank. The dampness from the last week's rains seeped into his clothes, and grass brushed his face. This close to the ground he could hear the quiet buzzing of insects. "It's weird that I don't normally like them," said Mikey, "but from down here it's like they're neighbors or something, just going about their day."

Frank smiled warmly at him with one side of his mouth, and Mikey's heart hammered fast and uneven, and his stomach went molten. He couldn't see anything except for Frank down here, and Frank looked warm and inviting.

"Careful," said Frank with quiet amusement. "You'll spill the entire jar on the ground."

Mikey dropped his gaze from Frank's face down where Frank was looking. He still had the jar of berries in his hand. It was dangerously close to tipping over, and Mikey hastily straightened it.

"Give me some," whispered Frank, turning on his side.

Mikey shook out some blackcurrants onto his palm, immediately staining his hand with dark red juice, and offered Frank the jar. Frank caught his hand instead, cupping it in one of his own, and plucked a few berries out of Mikey's palm, brushing his fingers against it.

He didn't take his eyes off Mikey's, and Mikey found himself frozen, watching Frank put the fruit in his mouth.

Frank's thumb brushed over Mikey's wrist. "Mikey..."

Frank went quiet at the sound of Ray and Gerard's footsteps and laughter as they came over to root around in the picnic basket. Mikey bit his lip and rolled away, trying to catch his breath. His heart was still hammering, and his palms felt sweaty. He was warm, too warm, and queasy.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. There was grass around his field of vision, but the sky above was blue, bluer perhaps than it had been all summer, just a few perfect clouds floating slowly across it.

Then the sky was replaced by Gerard's face. Mikey blinked, trying to focus. Gerard was grinning down at him, happy and easy. "Are you hiding?" he asked.

Mikey shook his head wordlessly.

"We were just busy discussing you," said Frank, giggling and contorting to protect himself when Gerard pursed his lips and leaned in to tickle him in retaliation. "Oh my god, Gerard, stop it, I was kidding!"

"That's right, cry uncle," said Gerard loftily and went for Frank's ribs. Frank yelped and tried to grab Gerard's side, and Gerard twisted out of the way and tickled him harder.

Mikey giggled, trying to roll out of the way of their knees and elbows. "Jesus, stop, I didn't do anything."

Gerard sat back on his haunches, laughing and breathing hard. "Okay, okay."

Frank unwrapped his arms cautiously, watching Gerard in case he took another opportunity to attack. "Truce," he said, panting and pushing up on his elbows. His hair was a mess, and his face was red. Mikey ducked his head, ostensibly to herd the berries that had spilled during the tussle back into the jar, and looked at him from the corner of his eye. Frank shook his hair out of his face and grinned at Gerard. Mikey didn't know what had happened there when they were lying in the grass together, but his whole body was almost shaking from it now, from the almosts and what-ifs of it.

When Mikey made himself stop eyeing Frank and looked up, he saw Gerard giving him a measured look. Mikey felt his cheeks get hot. He was unbearably uncomfortable, his stomach in a knot. He got up, frowning. "I'm going to take a look around," he said over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a bit."

Mikey felt a question itching in his heart - Gerard - and pushed it back, slamming the door shut. Behind him, he heard Ray ask Gerard something, but he didn't stay to listen, quickening his step instead and kicking at the grass at his feet. He and Gerard had lived halfway up this hill for years, but Mikey had only been this high up a few times. The garden was enough nature for them, most days. It was wild here, compared to their garden; the same bushes and brambles and flowers grew here, too, but untended and untouched, pristine. A few meters above him, the treeline started, cool and shadowed and inviting. Mikey scrambled up to it and looked down onto the slope of the hill and the sea of rooftops below. Frank and Ray and Gerard were almost impossible to hear from here, but he held his breath, listening for the faint sound of their voices carried by the wind.

Mikey sat down, cross-legged, and took a deep breath, feeling the tension drain. He felt embarrassed now for needing a break and awkward about going back, but it seemed stupid and petulant to avoid everyone for long. He picked at a clover at his feet and thought about returning.

He heard Frank approach before he saw him, loud rustling in the grass. Mikey wiped his palms on his trousers, ignoring the swooping in his stomach.

Frank dropped to the ground next to him, shoving his shoulder into Mikey's companionably. He smelled amazing, like cigarettes and grass.

"I'm okay," said Mikey. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You should come back, though. There's food. I feel like I kind of distracted you from the sandwiches before."

Mikey looked at him carefully to try to figure out what he meant by "distracted." Frank didn't seem flustered or uncomfortable or anything that Mikey himself felt right then. He was just... calm. Cheerful. He just looked like he always did when he wasn't worried about much and didn't have a job to do, and Mikey stamped down on the disappointment welling up inside and tried to act normally.

"I could eat," said Mikey. He was pretty hungry. He still felt the taste of the berries in his mouth and Frank's fingers on his wrist, and he didn't want to anymore.

Back at the clearing where they'd set up, Gerard looked relieved to see Mikey, shooting him a big smile. Mikey guiltily opened up the channel between them and let Gerard feel that he was okay. Gerard was reproachful and worried, kind of annoyed that Mikey had shut him out, but it was comforting to feel the connection again.

Ray grinned sunnily at Mikey, too. "You found him!" he said to Frank. Mikey smiled back - it was impossible not to answer a grin like Ray's - and shrugged ruefully, taking a sandwich out of the basket.

Frank talked up his tracking skills to Ray while Ray listened with an indulgent smile. Frank kept close to Mikey, not touching him but staying at his side in a way that made Mikey's head spin. Mikey wanted to hold onto Frank, dizzy, but kept his hands to himself, aware of everyone watching him.

When Frank ran out of words, Ray turned back to Gerard, who was sketching now, looking intently between the landscape and his paper, and touched him on the hand to get his attention. Mikey watched Gerard's face carefully, the way he blinked the concentration out of his eyes and how his expression went soft and happy when he looked at Ray.

"I forgot to tell you," said Ray to Gerard. "That paperwork you saw me work on when I took you to the airfield - that was a plan for a few rounds of test flights."

Gerard's face went all _interested_ , even more than before, and Mikey hastily tuned them out because he could feel that unpleasant twist of jealousy inside.

Ray continued talking, something about test flights and alterations to the craft, things Mikey would find interesting on their own, but he didn't want to hear it now, directed at his brother. He took a bite of a sandwich instead, concentrating on chewing and trying not to listen.

Frank said to Mikey quietly, "I did want to ask you something, before."

"Oh?" said Mikey, chewing faster.

"We're friends."

Mikey nodded. "That's not a question, is it?"

"You're my best friend," said Frank insistently.

Mikey swallowed. "Yeah, Frankie."

"So, uh..."

Frank didn't look as composed as before, now. He kept dropping his eyes from Mikey's face to the ground and looking up again an instant later. He seemed to be working up to something, but very slowly, and Mikey wasn't sure if he wanted to know what it was. He waited for Frank to find his words.

Ray was still talking to Gerard about his side projects, animated in a way Mikey found charming against his will, touching Gerard's hand and punctuating his words with expansive gestures and expressive hair movement. The hair was almost hypnotic.

Gerard looked so happy, reveling in Ray's attention but also completely interested in what he was saying. "Mikey!" he said happily when he saw Mikey watching. "Ray's going to take me flying next week."

"What?" said Mikey.

"Gerard mentioned he'd wanted to go up," said Ray with a grin. 

"That..." Mikey didn't know what to say. "That's great. He does want to."

Gerard's smile dropped, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Mikey avoided catching his eye and shifted around on the blanket, suddenly feeling restless and dissatisfied.

Frank looked at him worriedly. "Hey, Mikey, I want to grab a smoke." Dropping his voice, he said, "I still want to say something. Want to go for a walk?"

Frank's face was beautiful in the dying light. His eyes were soft and sympathetic, and Mikey couldn't hear whatever he had to say right now. "Sorry. I'm going back to the house. I'm kind of cold."

He scrambled up without looking at Frank's face and set off downhill before Frank or anyone else could stop him, skidding carelessly on loose rock.

The house was farther away than it seemed from up high, and Mikey wove his way downhill for a while until he reached the garden. He could breathe a little more easily here, alone, where everything was familiar. The everyday objects Gerard left strewn in the garden - the hedge cutters, a shovel, the newspaper on the swing - all of it made Mikey feel lighter. He walked past the swing and to the back door, turning the doorknob and - nothing.

"Fuck," Mikey muttered. Of course, this would be the one time Gerard locked the door, and he'd locked the front door himself, hours ago when Gerard asked him. He shook the doorknob again miserably and breathed in and out in frustration. A look back at the hillside showed that the twilight was thick enough that they probably couldn't see him locked out of the house. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the embarrassment of that, too.

He rattled the doorknob one last time just to make sure it really wasn't going to let him inside and sat down on the bench swing, hugging his knees to his chest and shivering. He really was getting cold now that the sun had gone down, and his jacket was in the house. He felt stupid and upset, and his stomach hurt.

Mikey's foot hit something crinkly. He nudged it toward himself and picked it up. It was Gerard's cigarette pack. Mikey had matches in his pocket, finally something going right. He didn't smoke much anymore, but he really wanted one now, so he lit up and watched the cherry glow red. He kicked out with one leg, sending the bench swinging crookedly. He couldn't see much around him anymore, only the outlines of the bushes and trees and the wall of the house that were vaguely threatening if he thought about them right. He felt alone, like he was in the air on his own, no navigator to tell him where to go.

He was leaning down to grind the butt into the ground when a hand touched his back. Mikey shrieked and jumped, and someone said, "Whoa, easy, it's just me," in Gerard's voice.

Mikey twisted around, catching his breath. "Don't scare me like that, Jesus," he said accusingly.

Gerard looked guilty, as far as Mikey could make out in the darkness. "Sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you."

"Are you the emissary?" asked Mikey more bitterly than he intended. 

Gerard obviously noticed but ignored it. "You were gone for a while, and I remembered that I locked the door." Gerard dangled the key in the air to demonstrate.

"Yes, I noticed," said Mikey dryly. "Why did you do that?"

Gerard shrugged. "I don't know."

Mikey stared at him until Gerard shifted uncomfortably and said, "I wanted to look responsible, I guess."

"In front of... Ray?"

Gerard shrugged again. "It seemed important."

"You like him."

"Mikey..." Gerard's voice was so gentle Mikey could hardly stand it. He hugged his knees more tightly to his chest and squeezed himself close to the arm of the bench, trying to take up as little space as possible. "Please don't be upset about the flying. It's still not going to be the same as you showing it to me."

Mikey huffed. "If he can take you up, that's great. I'm not selfish." He _felt_ selfish and greedy and annoyed that trying to kick these emotions into the corner of his brain Mikey never wanted to visit again wasn't working.

Gerard paused, breathing so quietly that Mikey only heard it because the rest of the world was so silent that it might well have not existed, then leaned down and kissed Mikey's forehead. "I love you best. Wait here."

He unlocked the door and disappeared inside the dark house. The door banged behind him, the noise sending a couple of birds aloft from the flower boxes under the windows. Mikey strained to hear what Gerard was doing inside. There was a distant sound of feet running up the stairs and another door banging, then silence and feet again.

Gerard emerged from the house and stopped in front of Mikey, stretching out his arm and wiggling his fingers in invitation. "Come on. You can't brood here forever. Let's go."

Mikey took a deep breath and grabbed Gerard's hand, letting himself be pulled up. Gerard had Mikey's jacket in his other hand, his warm lined leather one he flew in, the one he returned in from Senegal yesterday and that he'd wear again tomorrow. Mikey hugged Gerard on impulse, making him squeak in surprise, and put the jacket on. "You're not cold?" he asked.

"I have one up there. All of us do, actually."

"Of course."

Mikey sighed. Gerard squeezed his hand and gave him a side hug. "There's still one thing we all haven't done," he said. "So we should go."

Frank and Ray didn't remark on Mikey's reappearance, and Mikey got a cold feeling in his stomach when Frank just gave him a look and turned back to playing with his penknife. Ray sat next to him and asked him about his mail route, listening to his answers closely. Mikey felt the bitterness in his chest drain away bit by bit. It was impossible not to like Ray, and Mikey always liked talking about flying. It made it easy to tune out whatever Gerard was discussing with Frank in hushed tones behind them.

Finally Gerard scooted over to Mikey and Ray, wedging himself between them. Mikey sighed and shifted to let Gerard in, putting his chin on Gerard's shoulder. Maybe everything wasn't right with him and Frank, maybe he messed everything up when this day was just supposed to be fun, but at least Gerard liked him still.

Gerard put a rolled cigarette into Mikey's hand. "I had a smoke just now, Gee."

Ray sniffed his own cigarette to his face and said, "That is only part tobacco."

Gerard laughed happily. "The rest is hashish, and we should smoke it." He struck a match, the bright flame blinding in the dark. When Mikey could see again, there was smoke in the air between them, and it smelled like the few times before when Mikey had smoked hashish, like he sometimes smelled on Frank and, a long time ago, on Gabe.

Gerard let Ray light up from his cherry and then did it for Mikey, too. "Frankie," said Gerard, "stop lurking back there."

Frank didn't say anything, and Mikey didn't turn, but he imagined Frank's grin and the gesture he must've made at Gerard's back before sitting down next to Mikey, farther away than before. Mikey snuck a glance at Frank, but he was looking straight ahead where the city dimly glowed.

Mikey sighed and took a drag, leaning his head on Gerard's shoulder again. It was comfortable and warm. "Better than a mattress," he mumbled.

"What?" giggled Gerard.

"Shoulder," said Mikey and waved his hand. "I wonder if there's a fire down there."

Gerard leaned forward, staring at the city intently. "It's very glowy," he said finally.

The city's glow didn't seem so dim now. It was bright and warm like a bonfire, a contrast to the cold stars above them. The light stroked the skin of Mikey's face. Frank snorted and lay down on his back. Mikey followed suit and so did Gerard and Ray.

Mikey blinked up at the sky. Like this, the glow of the city wasn't as overwhelming. The stars were all out, the sky lit up like a switchboard, and the Milky Way dissected it. "It doesn't seem any closer from the air," he said.

"It's really far away," said Frank, the first thing he said to Mikey since Mikey stormed off to the house.

Mikey nodded, even though Frank couldn't see. "If we were up there, we couldn't ever fall."

"There'd be something worse about it. It's too remote. I'd go crazy."

Mikey blinked away two hot tears. It would probably be quiet, dark, like it had been in the garden. He'd be alone, but no one would come get him.

"Shh," Frank whispered and took Mikey's hand. Mikey felt every single whorl of Frank's fingertips imprinted on his skin. "Feel that." 

Frank lowered Mikey's hand into the grass between their two blankets and let go. Mikey gasped and spread his fingers wide. "I can feel the dew." Every single drop on the blades of grass disturbed by his hand slid down and settled on his skin, cool and fresh.

Gerard whispered something to Ray, and Ray laughed, high-pitched and happy. Frank was breathing evenly beside Mikey, and Mikey took the chance to edge a little closer to Gerard, enough so Gerard would hear him if he whispered. He didn't say anything, though, just opened up the channel in his heart a little more and waited for Gerard to feel it and send it back.

Gerard sent back waves of inquisitive reassurance, and Mikey shook his head in the darkness. He grabbed Gerard's hand and, from some unknown reserve of courage, slowly slid his other hand over to Frank's and felt Frank's hand shiver but not pull away.

* * *

They slept in the next day, Ray in the guest bedroom and Frank on the sofa downstairs, and in the afternoon, Mikey and Frank had to head over to the airport, leaving Ray and Gerard bleary-eyed in the garden, leaning on each other and clutching their coffee cups like a lifeline.

"You don't have to leave, do you?" Gerard asked. His voice sounded horrifying, raspy like he'd smoked a whole pack and not one joint, and he coughed to clear his throat. "Wow," he said, testing it out. Better.

Ray rubbed his hand across his face and adjusted his patch. "I'm... I do have to go. To work. Probably very soon." He rubbed his neck and shoved his hand inside his collar, scratching there. "Lessons to give."

"Ah," Gerard said, not wanting to say anything more because he didn't want to sound disappointed.

Ray smiled at Gerard, easy and tired. "I'm done at six. What are you doing tonight?"

Gerard blinked and drank some coffee. "Nothing. Painting."

"Okay," said Ray, standing up.

"Okay?" echoed Gerard, watching Ray set his cup on the side table and pick up his things. Oh. "Okay. See you later."

Ray grinned at him and straightened his shoulders, already looking alert like he'd had a full night's sleep. "See you, Gerard. Thank you for yesterday. I had a nice time."

Gerard nodded automatically. "Anytime."

Ray left, and Gerard finished his coffee and did the washing up, the dishes and then himself, scrubbing the lingering stink of hashish and cigarettes out of his hair and off his skin. He dumped his clothes into the wash basin and then wandered upstairs. His unmade bed stared at him, cheerfully white and achingly empty. He crawled in, his wet hair soaking the pillowcase through, and fell asleep.

He woke up from a rumbling outside his window. An engine revving. He got out of bed and threw the window open, staring down into the street. The sun had dipped below the row of houses opposite, but even in the dusk he could clearly see the motorbike and the frizzy hair.

Gerard pulled back from the window before Ray could see him in all his shirtless glory. "Fuck," Gerard muttered. He needed clothes. Nice ones. Trousers that fit well, his nicest shirt, all things that had gone to the laundress and been pressed. He took a look in the mirror and ran his hands through his hair. It had dried every which way, but he finger-combed the strands until they framed his face okay. He slipped on his good shoes, too, the ones that didn't live by the door and never saw the dirt of the garden, and ran down the stairs.

Ray was waiting patiently outside the front door when Gerard opened it. "Did you even knock?" Gerard asked breathlessly.

Ray shot him a grin that made everything inside Gerard curl up in a warm tangle. "I saw you at your window."

Gerard's face got warm. "Oh, yeah?"

"You seem to have more clothes on now."

Gerard bit the inside of his cheek and just said, "Didn't want to keep you waiting. Where are we going?"

"My place," Ray said, tentative under the easy smile.

Gerard couldn't help smiling back anymore, showing all his teeth. "Okay." He looked the bike up and down. "Didn't think I'd get to ride one of those."

"I got tired of the bus." Ray took Gerard's hand and tugged him over to the bike. "Get on behind me and hold on."

Gerard took a deep breath, trying to suppress the elation that he felt building in his ribcage with painful-sweet pressure, and swung his leg over the bike behind Ray. Ray hit the pedal, and Gerard yelped as they took off, rattling down the winding streets of the hill towards the city that was already tinted sodium-orange.

Ray's place turned out to be a rented half-house. "The owners live in the other half," he explained, "but right now they're gone."

The entryway was a dark, narrow door and corridor, and Gerard laughed when Ray tripped over something that clattered loudly onto the floor. "Hold on, this is clearly treacherous," Ray said grimly. "Stay here until I say it's safe."

Gerard smiled widely in the dark, not having to hide anything, while Ray picked out a careful path ahead. There was just enough dim light coming in through the windows somewhere that he could make out Ray's windmilling arms heading down to the rooms.

Finally Ray disappeared in the pale rectangle of a doorway, and shortly after that the light came on. Gerard looked on the floor - the thing that they knocked over was a box of what looked like shoe polish - and followed Ray into the room.

It was a small parlor with a couch, an armchair, and a table with just one chair. Ray was cranking the handle of the gramophone, one shoulder moving smoothly under his shirt. Gerard swallowed. It felt like home.

"I expect you haven't eaten," said Ray, looking at Gerard over his shoulder. "I can make eggs."

Gerard laughed, startled. Music poured out of the gramophone, a tune Gerard had never heard before but loved immediately. "I'll eat eggs. I'd also like to see your record collection."

Ray pulled out the drawer under the gramophone. "I had to leave a lot of it in the States, but I brought my favorites."

"Mikey and I are thinking about going home for a visit. Bringing some records back with us," Gerard said absentmindedly, settling cross-legged on the floor and running his fingers over the sleeves.

"You can borrow some if you like. Or put them on now," Ray said. He touched Gerard on the shoulder, his hand lingering just long enough for Gerard's heart to start hammering. He felt it in his fingertips, his blood tapping out a rhythm against the record sleeves.

When Ray left, Gerard took a deep breath and started flipping through the records.  
It was a good collection. There were favorites of his and Mikey's and new things Gerard had never heard of.

There was the sound of running water from the kitchenette and clanging noises, pans and plates and forks. Gerard smiled a little to himself and closed his eyes, taking in the gramophone tune and the noises of Ray's home, zoning out and swaying to the rhythm of it, until Ray touched him on the shoulder again. "All ready."

Gerard dragged his eyes up Ray's body. He wasn't much bigger than Gerard, but from below, he almost loomed. "Thanks," he said finally, getting up and brushing off.

The record hissed to a close, and Ray took the needle off, turning on the wireless instead. “Bye Bye Blackbird” poured out, cheerful and quick. Gerard grinned and sat in the armchair, taking a plate from Ray.

Ray sat on the couch. They ate in silence, chasing the eggs down with coffee. Gerard was ravenous for the first time today, and Ray could scramble some eggs.

Sometime after Gerard ate the last mouthful of eggs but before he drank the last of the coffee, his heart pinged, like a rubber band shot off a finger. Mikey lifting off. Gerard shook himself and looked at Ray instead, his long broad fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, the way he swayed his head to the music, his wide lips that looked so soft in the warm light.

Ray caught Gerard looking and smiled, a little self-conscious. "Good?"

"Great." Gerard balanced the empty plate on the arm of the chair. "Can't remember the last time I had eggs that good."

"Flatterer." Ray got off the couch and leaned over to grab the plate. Their eyes met, and the inside of Gerard's chest melted warmly, like a bar of chocolate. "Want me to put another record on?"

"Please," Gerard said. "I made a stack of records over there." He waved in the direction of the gramophone and closed his eyes, listening to the dry rasp of the paper sleeve and the scratch of the wireless cutting out, the hiss of the needle working its way into the song.

“My Melancholy Baby” started up. Gerard slitted his eyes open, studying Ray. "Why'd you ask me here?"

There was a pause, and then Ray said, "I like you." He picked up his and Gerard's plates and cups and headed to the kitchen.

"Hmm." Gerard opened his eyes. "Want a hand with those?"

"Sure."

Gerard got up and leaned again the door frame. Ray tied a towel around his waist and started washing up. "Should I dry?"

"This will only take a minute. You can just keep me company."

Gerard smiled and stayed in the doorway. "Your place is nice."

"Thanks. It came furnished. Most of these things aren't mine."

"It feels like you, though."

Ray's lips quirked. He untied the towel and started drying. "You don't know much about me."

"Yet."

Ray set the plate and towel down. "You asked me why I asked you over."

Gerard nodded, looking at Ray steadily. Ray wiped his hands nervously and took the few steps toward Gerard, stopping just shy of where Gerard would feel crowded in. Gerard tipped his head back against the door frame, looking up at Ray through his eyelashes. He felt light-headed, and there was a fizzy feeling in his stomach as Ray licked his lips and leaned in to kiss him, keeping a careful distance and pulling back after a second.

"So that's why."

Gerard's lips tingled. He touched them with slow, clumsy fingers. "I thought so."

Ray smiled faintly. "Is that okay?"

Gerard sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and watched Ray's cheeks flush. "I haven't made up my mind yet. You should kiss me again."

Ray's lips parted in a soft _oh_. He took a small step closer to Gerard, and Gerard put a hand on Ray's hip, urging him even closer, and tilted his chin up, waiting. This time Ray was less hesitant, turning Gerard's face up with gentle fingers and kissing him slowly and thoroughly like Gerard hadn't been in years. It was dizzying, and Gerard slid his hands into Ray's hair the way he'd wanted to for weeks and held on as Ray broke off the kiss and started another, and another, a series of long lush kisses that left Gerard weak-kneed and breathless and ready for more.

"Okay, okay," Gerard gasped, turning his head away to catch his breath. "It's definitely okay."

Ray smiled, his lips wet against Gerard's cheek, and placed a trail of kisses down Gerard's neck. Gerard grabbed Ray's hands and put them firmly on his waist, arching his neck to meet Ray's kisses. He was thinking less and less idly about dragging Ray over to the couch and getting undressed, but suddenly the elastic that had shot off with Mikey's plane snapped back into place. Instead of its usual comforting hold, it was ice-cold and constricting, spreading dread and numbness through his chest.

Gerard's legs buckled, and he slid halfway down the door frame. Ray held him up, but he couldn't support Gerard's weight, and they both dropped to their knees on the floor. "What's wrong?" Ray asked frantically.

Gerard's breath came quickly, making him even more light-headed. "Mikey's crashed."

* * *

Ray got them to the airfield as fast as he could in the dark, after asking only a few questions. Gerard clung to him on the bike. His limbs felt cold and sluggish, and he had to keep his eyes trained on Ray's back because he couldn't tell if he was falling off or not.

By the time Ray parked the bike by the plane and left to take care of the flight plan, Gerard felt a little better. Mikey was okay; Mikey was sitting down and sending calm to him across half a continent.

"I had to call in a favor, but we can go," Ray said, returning. "They must have only been skirting the coast because they radioed every airport they passed. I doubt they crashed far inland."

He had his helmet on, another one in his hand, and a spare jacket, too. "Suit up," he said, throwing them to Gerard.

Gerard fumbled with the buckles but managed to pull everything on. "Do you believe that I can find them?"

Ray tucked a few escaped strands of frizzy hair into his helmet and threw a clipboard into the passenger seat. "You told me they crashed, and it turned out their plane went out of radio contact after they checked in at Casablanca." He shrugged. "I'm more concerned with how we're going to get there in the dark. You can't read these maps, but you said you can... sense Mikey, right? You can navigate?"

The lump in Gerard's throat hurt. "I only sense him when we're both on the ground."

"So, no navigation." Ray said grimly and looked at the sky. "Shit. I guess it can be done. There's a bright moon out. We'll just... land on beaches along the way and figure it out."

Gerard felt cold again. He didn't say anything, but Ray's expression softened when he looked back at him. "Here," he said. "You have to button it the whole way up, and buckle the helmet, too."

Gerard looked up at the moon that would help them and let Ray tuck everything in, button the buttons and smooth the fabric of his jacket. Ray leaned in and kissed him, then, firm and sure. "We'll find them." 

It was Gerard's first flight, but he couldn't feel anything but the rush of wind and the beating of his heart. The moon was blinding, and the mountain range was a menacing dark outline up ahead, so he closed his eyes and tried to reach out to Mikey, but there was nothing. The sky muffled everything.

After a while, Ray squeezed his hand, and Gerard opened his eyes. Everything around was dark but some lights on the ground, and Gerard closed his eyes again and tried to bear it. He must've fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, they thumped down and rolled to a stop, and Gerard felt Mikey again to the sound of the beating surf.

"Are they nearby?" Ray asked.

Gerard bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Not really. He's that way." Gerard waved his hand, indicating along the coast. The beach gleamed pale silver, a long thin strip of light. "But it's very faint."

"Good," said Ray. "That's along the coast, still."

"It feels pretty far."

Ray nodded. "All right. Let's try again."

This time Gerard didn't close his eyes. He looked down at the sea instead, trying to see what Mikey saw when he flew over it at night, the shining crests under the moonlight and the dark troughs that swallowed all the light.

When they landed again, it was at an airfield. Ray herded Gerard off the plane, giving someone directions to refuel. Gerard stepped aside, looking around. In the dark, it didn't look much different as the airport in Toulouse. 

Ray came up behind him and Gerard said, "This is closer."

"Can you sense the direction?"

"I think it's that way," said Gerard. 

"I bet their engine stalled right off the coast. That's not bad news. Can you tell if we're twice as close now? Or closer?"

Gerard squeezed his eyes shut. "Closer. Maybe just a little more than halfway."

Ray nodded. "Okay. Let's try this again." 

The next time they landed, Gerard knew exactly where they were. "We're here."

Ray pulled his goggles up and looked at Gerard incredulously. "Seriously, how can you tell?"

Gerard shrugged. "It feels exactly like this when we're across town from each other."

"No, I meant-- Really?" Ray asked happily. "That's very close."

Gerard bit his lip, so he wouldn't smile, wouldn't jinx it. "They're that way." He pointed not directly inland but at an angle. "We overshot just a little." 

"Hm," said Ray. "We can probably drive along the coast for a couple of kilometers to save them the walk, but I'm worried about fuel. We'll likely have enough, but I don't want to risk it."

Gerard chewed on his finger worriedly, tasting the salt carried by the breeze. "Do we have enough to get back?"

"Oh yeah," said Ray, nodding vigorously. "At the very least, we have plenty to get somewhere where we can refuel if we have to. Spain, at the very least." 

"Okay." Gerard looked out onto the beach. "Want to take a walk?"

The sand crunched and yielded under their feet, spreading in every direction until it smoothly blended with the night, except where the moonlight glinted off the water. The ocean was shimmering silver there, lapping at the sand with long shallow waves. Pale, nearly invisible birds ran in the wake of the water, pecking at the sand. 

It was quiet, and beautiful, and terrifying, and it seemed like they could walk for hours and it wouldn't change at all. But fifteen minutes later, Ray turned them around, not wanting to leave the plane out of sight, and they walked back with the moon at their back casting long shadows before them. When they got to the plane, Gerard sat down where the sand was soft and dry. 

"Are you all right?" asked Ray, sitting down next to him. 

Gerard thought about it. "This is something I've always dreaded, you know. This is the nightmare. I've dreamed about it. And now it happened, and I always thought I'd be stuck at home waiting for news, but instead I'm here with you. And I'm not afraid." He paused, thinking. "Well. Not much. It seems too easy."

Ray patted him on the shoulder. "You should try to sleep." He hopped up into the cockpit and extended his hand to Gerard. 

Gerard laughed mirthlessly and accepted his hand. "I don't know if I can," he said, curling up in the seat. But even as he said that, he felt sleep tugging at him, the rhythmic pulsing of the surf dragging him under, and when he closed his eyes, he fell asleep.

* * *

Mikey and Frank's route took them over land, cutting over the western edge of the Sahara. When the engine cut out, Mikey felt for a moment like it was just the bottom of his stomach dropping out again. But they were falling, the yoke going haywire under his hands, and Frank was screaming at him. Mikey pulled the plane out of the tailspin just barely in time. A minute later they dropped through wispy moonlit clouds, and Mikey screwed up his eyes, trying to make out a smooth place to land between the dunes

Frank braced for landing and, a split second later, so did Mikey. The plane smacked against the sand, chassis going first with an ugly crunch and then wings cracking and bending and metal flying apart at the impact with the rippling surface of the Sahara. Mikey gasped for breath and scrabbled at the fastenings of his belt. He didn't dare look at Frank, but Frank coughed, gritty, spitting sand over the controls, and Mikey felt a wave of relief wash over the pit of horror in his stomach.

He scrambled out of the cockpit. "Do you need help?" he yelled at Frank, feeling his limbs go slow and cold when there was no reply. He ran around the plane as fast as he could, kicking through the sand, and saw with relief that Frank had gotten out.

Frank was on his knees a dozen meters away from the plane, panting and covered in grime. "Stay back, asshole," he yelled. "Do you smell fuel?" 

Mikey froze and took a deep sniff of the air. He shook his head and jogged the quarter-circle around the plane to Frank, collapsing to his knees by Frank's side. His head hurt, and there was a stitch in his side that didn't feel good at all, but at least the air smelled clean and dry.

"No fuel."

"Tank's whole, thank fuck," said Frank. He coughed again and spit on the sand. "Probably."

Mikey peered at Frank. "Are you okay?

Frank grimaced and stuck out his tongue, prodding it with his finger. "I think I bit my tongue, and I think my head is bleeding, and I'm in the middle of the Sahara. How about you?"

"Your _head_ is _bleeding_?" Mikey looked back at the plane frantically. It sat apart, alien, broken, glowing blue in the light of the moon. The fuselage looked whole enough. He could get to the first-aid kit, and they'd need blankets, too, shit. "Stay here."

"What? Mikey, sit the hell down--"

Mikey ignored him and shuffled over to the plane, sniffing the air carefully. It didn't smell like fuel when he got closer to the plane either. Mikey pried open the mail compartment door. The supplies were there somewhere, blocked in by the dozen or so bags of mail. That was another thing, the mail. "Crashing in the desert, fuck," Mikey muttered. When the engine cut out, they didn't know where they were. They could be ten kilometers from the coast, or twenty, or forty, and god only knew if anyone had seen their two lamps fall out of the sky.

The busted wing creaked alarmingly above him. Mikey moved faster, tugging at the side of the plane first to make sure it would support his weight, and hoisted himself up inside. It smelled like hot metal and oil, and everything was covered by the sand that had crashed over them on landing, like the crest of a wave. Mikey picked his way through the mailbags and got to the supplies. There was water, enough for a couple of days, blankets and provisions, spare lamps. Mikey moved them all closer to the door, trying to work quickly around the heavy mail bags.

Finally he grabbed the first aid kit and jumped out. Frank was already by the plane, scowling up at the wing. "You're an idiot, Mikey. That wing's barely hanging on. It could've collapsed on you. Is that what you want, more head trauma?"

Mikey ignored him and got out the antiseptic. "We should wash your face," he said. "I can't see where you're bleeding."

"We're going to need the goddamned water to drink, not to make me pretty."

Mikey nodded and stepped closer to Frank, leaning in to examine his face closely. There was a dark streak running across his temple and down his cheek. Mikey touched it carefully with two fingers. It smelled like blood. "I think it's just a cut," Mikey said quietly and unstoppered the little bottle. 

Frank's breath hitched when Mikey dabbed the antiseptic on. Mikey rubbed carefully, trying to wipe away the grease and sand without rubbing it into the cut, but it must've stung because Frank made a quiet whining noise, involuntary and abruptly cut off. "Shh," Mikey whispered, "it's clean now," and blew cool air on the cut. 

Frank shivered and pulled away. Mikey coughed and reached for the kit. "I hope there's plaster," he muttered, digging around. Plaster, gauze, scissors - it was all there, too, and hard to juggle in the sand without a surface to put them on. He fiddled with them, while Frank tsked impatiently, until he had a pad of gauze pressed against Frank's temple and a square of plaster in his other hand. Frank was breathing against his upper arm, and Mikey kept sticking the plaster on wrong, crooked.

"Oh, for god's sake," Frank snapped and pulled back, snatching the plaster from Mikey's hands. "Hold the gauze." He stuck the plaster on over it, looking at Mikey stormily.

Mikey scrutinized the taping and nodded. It looked okay. "We've gotta set up camp, or we're going to freeze our legs off here. Do you think we should light some lamps? It could be dangerous, but it'd be nice to have light."

Frank pursed his lips. "Mikey. Stop."

Mikey froze. Frank looked angry and impatient. "Aren't you supposed to keep your cool in a crisis, Frankie?"

"Mikey, stop. Tell me if you're okay." Oh. Not angry. Worried.

"I have a headache." He felt a little woozy, but it was getting better, and Frank didn't need to know about it. "I feel okay. Except..." There it was. "Gerard's not good."

Frank huffed. "That's not important right now."

Mikey thought it was pretty important. Now that he let himself feel it, he couldn't ignore Gerard sick to his stomach with worry. He sat down by the side of the plane and breathed through it.

"Mikey." Frank shook him by the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm kind of dizzy." Frank's eyes were so dark and worried. Mikey swallowed and looked up at the sky. It was clear, and the moon was giant, pale, shining, and so bright, casting shadows on Frank's face and blinding Mikey. "The moon's washing out the sky," Mikey murmured.

Frank tilted his face back down and looked into his eyes. "I don't think you're concussed."

"Oh, good," Mikey said woozily and shook his head to clear it. "You gonna let me up now?"

"Depends," said Frank. He shivered. "Damn, it's cold."

"It's only midnight. It's going to keep getting colder."

"And then it'll get hotter. At least we have blankets for the cold."

Mikey rubbed his face. "Yeah, let's get those instead of freezing our asses off." He paused for a moment and said, "Frankie. Do you know where we are?"

Frank jerked his shoulder and reached for the blankets. "You know I don't. Close to the coast. Who knows if it's close enough to walk."

Mikey nodded and got up, wincing and clutching his side. "I'm bruised to shit."

"Crash landings will do that." Frank got the the blankets down and handed Mikey a tarp. Mikey unfolded it clumsily. He wanted to lie down, to tell Gerard they were okay, and to sleep until his headache passed.

Frank shook Mikey's shoulder gently, and Mikey shuddered. "What?"

"You were just standing there." Frank pried the tarp out of Mikey's hand. "You think we should sleep between two layers or just cover up with it?"

Mikey shrugged. "Just cover up, I guess. The sand's pretty warm."

Frank scrunched up his nose. "I don't want to get sand in my clothes."

"I already have sand in my clothes," said Mikey. He ran a hand over his neck and felt grittiness all over it. "I think I have the contents of an entire sandbox under my helmet."

Frank shifted and frowned, looking grossed out. "I hate the sand."

"I think it loves us," said Mikey. 

"What, just because we're alive? It stranded us here." 

"Technically, that was the engine. At least we still have our supplies."

"You sound like Gabe," said Frank, getting out some biscuits and measuring out a cupful of water. "Drink. Eat. Be merry." He raised his eyebrow sarcastically and toasted Mikey with the cup, drinking exactly half and handing it over.

Mikey shook his head and drank the water, washing away the taste of the crash but wrinkling his nose at its stale taste. "We should sleep. And figure our way out of this tomorrow. Gonna have to walk." Mikey yawned. 

Frank spread the blankets on the ground and took off his boots and jacket. Mikey set the cup down and did the same. With the jacket off, the dry biting air made goosebumps spring up all over his arms, and Mikey hurried to lie down on one of the blankets. 

"Sleeping in the open air twice in three days. I'm getting spoiled," Frank said with a bite of sarcasm, but the fight had mostly gone out of his voice. He lay down beside Mikey, trapping him between himself and the side of the plane, and dragged a blanket and the tarp over them. Mikey was still cold, but the plane was still a little warm, and Frank's body was giving off heat like a radiator. Mikey inched closer, and Frank rolled toward him a little. "That's better."

Frank hummed and closed his eyes. The moon was already setting, hanging low on the horizon like it finally sagged through the sky, its light yellow and diffuse. Through the tarp, it looked like the streetlight that had shone right outside Mikey's window in his and Gerard's Paris flat, glaring almost too brightly to sleep, but Mikey was beyond tired. There was a heaviness in his head, and even the ache of his bruised bones was dragging him to sleep instead of keeping him awake. 

He dreamed that he was in their busted plane in the ocean, not flying but rowing with heavy oars that he could barely lift. Ahead of him was a beach, and on the beach was Frank, and behind him Gerard was rowing a different plane and waving at him. The water was choppy, and neither Frank nor Gerard was getting closer. Then a freezing wave crashed over Mikey, and he woke up.

The moon had set, and it was completely dark. It was hot under the tarp, but the plane felt like a block of ice, the heat of the engine-warmed metal leeched out by the cold desert night. Mikey's face was warm, but his teeth were chattering. He rolled to get away from it, quietly trying to press closer to Frank's warm body without waking him up. 

He felt wide awake, and something was different. Gerard wasn't there. Mikey had never felt him gone like that when he was on the ground before. He knew what it meant even as his stomach twisted up in a knot of relief and worry.

With the plane no longer touching his side, Mikey felt too warm very quickly. He eased the tarp down around his neck and shivered at the cold air on his face. The sky was both dark and lit up by billions of stars, familiar constellations tilted off their axis. There were more stars here than he could ever see in Toulouse, more than he'd seen anywhere before. Mikey dipped his hand in the gap between his and Frank's blankets and touched the sand which was warm from the heat of their bodies. His fingers slid smoothly into it, and he wondered if anyone had ever touched it before, if anyone had ever seen it, if anyone would ever see it again.

He didn't know how long he'd been looking up at the sky. He thought maybe he'd drifted off again and only woke up when Frank made a sleepy noise and then an awake one. He fought his way out of the tarp, and Mikey watched his head appear by the palest starlight - messy hair, dark eyes, soft mouth.

Frank rolled his head, looking around, and stopped when he caught Mikey's eyes. He smiled at him, and Mikey smiled back helplessly. Their shoulders were touching, the warmest point of contact between them.

"How long have you been awake?" Frank asked.

"I'm not sure. Long enough that some of the stars set. I wasn't paying much attention. I think Gerard is coming for us."

"Oh, good," said Frank. His quiet certainty that Mikey was right made Mikey's heart clench. "I had weird dreams."

"Me, too."

Frank smiled silently at Mikey. Mikey couldn't take his eyes off Frank's face, his smiling lips and eyes, and thought, they were in the middle of a desert. There was nowhere more alone than this, and Mikey couldn't take it anymore. He leaned in, just tilted his neck a fraction to bridge the brief space between them, and kissed Frank softly on the mouth.

Frank gasped and put his hand on Mikey's chest, not pushing him away but not letting him close either. Mikey pulled back with a cold sinking feeling settling in his chest. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm sorry I did that."

This time Frank kissed him, cutting Mikey off, whispering, "I wanted you to," and "I've been waiting for you to" between kisses.

Mikey made an embarrassing, almost mewling noise, and kissed Frank back as well as he could. Frank's lips were soft and wet, and he kissed like it was the only thing on his mind, like Mikey was the only thing in the world.

Frank put his hand on Mikey's waist, politely over his clothes, still kissing him softly and clinging. Mikey shuddered and grabbed Frank's hand, shoving it under his shirt, and felt Frank shiver in return. Frank's hand was so hot on his skin. _Frank_ was so hot everywhere, a column of heat all along Mikey's body.

"What are we doing?" asked Mikey, tearing his mouth away to breathe.

Frank chased Mikey's mouth, but Mikey turned his head away, leaning down to smell the curve of Frank's neck. It smelled like fuel and dust and like the soap in Mikey's bathroom where Frank had washed up that morning. It made Mikey feel so helpless.

"You don't know?" Frank asked with a teasing edge to his voice.

"I want to know what you want," Mikey whispered into Frank's ear. Their small movements against each other had already messed up the blankets, and Mikey felt sand slipping down his clothes almost grain by grain, more sensitized than the hashish had made him, like touching Frank made Mikey aware of sensation on a microscopic scale.

Frank exhaled, hot against Mikey's skin, and said, "I want you. Like this."

Mikey closed his eyes and found Frank's mouth by feel. "Come on, then."

Frank rolled on top of Mikey, catching him by surprise and stretching and pulling at the tarp. Mikey pushed at it, trying to create more space for the two of them, and felt condensation streaking his hand. He was burning up. Mikey shoved their clothes open impatiently, layer after layer, shivering as Frank sucked on his earlobe.

"So useless," whispered Mikey, undoing buttons. Frank laughed quietly in Mikey's ear, a dark sound Mikey had never heard from him before, and bit down. Mikey shuddered and thrust his hips up involuntarily. They were both hard. "Fuck, Frankie, I never..." Mikey blushed so hard he thought he'd never stop and dropped his hands from Frank's waist.

Frank lifted his head from Mikey's neck and looked into Mikey's eyes. Mikey could barely make out his features, but Frank's eyes were dark and intense, full of purpose. Frank rolled his hips, and Mikey whimpered and felt his face get even hotter, and then Frank leaned down to kiss a trail up Mikey's chest. Mikey cried out and threw his head back, smacking it against the sand. "Please, Frank."

Frank covered Mikey's body with his in one smooth, quick movement and kissed him again before Mikey knew it was coming, sliding his tongue in Mikey's mouth. Mikey clenched a hand in Frank's hair and held on as Frank took the kiss from him and reached between them and undid Mikey's fly. He reached inside Mikey's shorts and stroked him slowly and then faster and harder until the stars above exploded.

Mikey threw his arm over his eyes and panted, coming down and feeling the sweat cool on his body where the tarp had slid up. When his heartbeat stopped hammering, he opened his eyes. Stars above him, sand under his neck. Frank kneeling between his legs, tarp hanging over his shoulders like a cape. Mikey sat up and reached for him, awkward but inexorably drawn to him.

"Mikey," Frank whispered and took his hand. "Will you?"

Mikey kissed Frank like Frank had kissed him, intent and thorough and purposeful, and let Frank guide his hand down around Frank's cock, let him set the pace. Mikey heard all the noises that Frank made into his mouth, and when Frank came, Mikey held him up with his free hand and kissed him harder.

Frank clung to him for a while, breathing hotly against the side of Mikey's face while Mikey held Frank's soft cock and wondered what to do with his hand. What had Frank done? Mikey let go and wiped it on the blanket, pushing aside thoughts of someone seeing and drawing conclusions, and then he put both his arms around Frank.

Frank dropped his head on Mikey's shoulder, and Mikey kissed his hair. He was getting cold, and Frank must have been, too, both of them kneeling in the open air with their jackets and shirts undone. "Frank," Mikey whispered. "Frankie, we gotta lie down. We have to sleep, so we can decide what to do at dawn."

Frank groaned softly. "Yeah. Yes." His teeth were chattering lightly, and Mikey wrapped his arms around Frank gently, kissing his cheek and his hair and the corner of his mouth before letting go and looking around. The blankets were bunched up, half-covered in sand, and the sand was disturbed and lumpy where their feet had dug in. Mikey straightened out the blankets quickly and drew Frank down, pulling the tarp over them and making sure not to touch the metal sheeting on the side of the plane.

They pressed close together, shivering. "That wasn't smart," Frank muttered, burrowing close to Mikey. He must've felt Mikey flinch because he pulled back a little, enough to look Mikey in the face. "I meant doing it in the open air, Mikey. Easy."

The air quickly warmed between them. Mikey finally felt tired again, but he didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want to think about morning. He snaked his hand inside Frank's undershirt and slid it up Frank's chest, stroking through the hair there, and Frank traced invisible patterns on Mikey's face with a fingertip. Mikey didn't want to stop looking into Frank's eyes, but Frank's eyelids drooped quickly, and he drifted off with his hand still on Mikey's cheek.

Mikey bit his lip - his mouth still felt sore and swollen from Frank's kisses - and watched Frank for a while, his quivering lashes, his slightly open mouth. Then he carefully did up all their buttons, straightened Frank's shirt as well as he could without waking Frank up, and drew Frank close to him again.

He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, and he felt himself drifting off. Through the haze of sleep, he felt his bond with Gerard come alive briefly, just for ten or fifteen minutes and then vanish again. He woke up again a while later to the same feeling, and Gerard was closer until he wasn't there anymore. Near dawn it happened for the third time, and Mikey gasped from how close it was. 

He shook Frank awake. "Wake up! I know what to do."

Frank groaned and stirred, and Mikey bit back a smile and crawled out from under the tarp. The sky to the east was almost white at the horizon, yolk-gold sun rising up and washing out the stars, illuminating the endless expanse of sand. It was breathtaking and terrifying, like it was waiting for a moment's inattention to swallow Mikey up, absorb him until nothing remained. It was a cold, pristine beauty, but when Mikey turned to the rising sun, it caressed his face warmly. It almost didn't seem like a threat.

He listened to Frank pack away the blankets and pour water into smaller flasks, get together their food and supplies, and shook his head to clear it, turning where his heart pulled him, where the sky was still dark, and a few stars were still hanging onto the edge of the horizon.

Frank came up behind him quietly. "Hey. Are you going to explain anything? Why are we walking?"

"Gerard is waiting for us. We're not too far from the coast. There's probably ten kilometers of desert that way and then maybe another ten to the coast."

Frank frowned. Mikey wanted to reach out and smooth out the wrinkle in Frank's brow with his thumb or maybe his mouth. "How do you know that?"

Mikey shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "You're the one always making jokes about me and Gerard being like twins. You know I just know."

"Guess so." Frank looked at Mikey seriously, like he was memorizing him. "Come here."

Mikey blushed and went right up to Frank, shuffling in the sand. "Frank... wait, Frankie, how's your head? Should I change your bandage?"

Frank rolled his eyes and grabbed Mikey by the shoulders, spinning him around and pinning him to the side of the plane, kissing him hard. Mikey gasped and moaned into Frank's mouth, going limp and letting Frank push him harder against the slowly warming metal.

After a minute Frank pulled away, and Mikey almost slid down to the ground, catching himself just in time. His knees were shaking. "What was that for?" he asked weakly.

"I've always wanted to do that," said Frank with a shrug and a satisfied smile. Then the smile disappeared. "You going to let me do that when we get out of here?"

Mikey ignored how the shaking spread from his knees to his entire body. "Would I, Frank, of course I would."

Frank cupped Mikey's face in his hands and kissed him again. It was a brief kiss, but it felt suspended in infinity to Mikey, this early, this far away from anyone else.

Frank pulled away, clearing his throat. "We should leave."

Mikey nodded and started walking.

"Hey," Frank yelled. "Water! I'm not carrying both bottles."

Mikey grinned and turned around. Frank was glaring at him with a bottle in each hand, his pockets bulging with their provisions. "You're holding both of them right now."

Frank made a comically outraged expression, and Mikey broke down in giggles. "Okay, okay, I'll take one."

"That's right," Frank muttered, handing it over and skipping a couple of steps to match Mikey's pace. "I can't do all the heavy lifting here."

"I kissed you first," said Mikey quietly. 

Frank took a sharp breath. Mikey knocked his shoulder lightly against Frank's and, a few steps later, transferred the bottle of water into his other hand, so he could reach down and brush their free hands together for the length of two heartbeats.

Frank didn't pull away, and Mikey refused to call the weakness in his legs relief. He looked at Frank our of the corner of his eye. Frank was quiet, but there was a smile curling at the corner of his lips. It was embarrassing and wonderful. Mikey thought he could get used to taking chances.

It soon became clear that they were at the edge of the desert, at the mouth of a valley formed by two ridges of dunes. To the east, they rose up high like gargantuan buried bodies erupting from the sand, but here was flatter, sand in miniature ridges like undulating garden snakes, and getting more flat the farther they walked. Mikey had heard what it could be like, uniformly smooth waves of sand in every direction, dunes the height of small mountains. That would be terror; this wasn't.

The air heated up with every passing minute, and the trade wind was lively, bringing with it more dry heat. An hour in, when the sun was still low, but the whole sky was light, it was as hot as mid-afternoon at home, but there was no familiar screaming of cicadas, no hum of heat in the air. It was dry, quiet, and hot and getting hotter.

Mikey's shirt was slick with sweat, sticking to his back. He disentangled his hand from Frank's with regret and took off his jacket, stuffing his hat into the sleeve.

"Smart," Frank muttered and did the same. He sounded tired already. "We didn't get turned around or anything, did we?"

"We're still headed away from the sun, so no," Mikey pointed out, but he closed his eyes and centered himself on the little voice inside him that knew where to go. "We're on the right track. It's still hours away, but we're going the right way."

"Okay." Frank threw his jacket over his shoulder, shook himself, and quickened his pace. Mikey lagged behind just a little to look at him, his breath hitching at the sight of Frank's small broad-shouldered figure moving energetically against the blue and yellow backdrop of the sky and sand.

"So screwed," Mikey whispered and jogged a few meters to catch up with Frank.

They walked in silence for a while, an hour or more, while the sun rose higher in the sky, beating down on them. Mikey's hair was damp with sweat, and he kept pushing it out of his eyes, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

Finally Frank stopped and sat down cross-legged in the sand. "Does it look to you like it's browner or greener or something ahead?"

Mikey squinted at the horizon. "Who the hell knows. Even the coast might not be, depending on where we are."

"Maybe it's a mirage." Frank leaned his head against Mikey's knee and sighed.

"I thought those were supposed to be of palm trees and castles and a lot of water."

"You're not desperate enough for water to have that kind of vision." Frank opened his bottle and poured some water into his mouth, tilting his head back and giving Mikey a good view of droplets of water running down his chin. "Or do people see those when they have to piss?"

"I'm pretty sure it's the first one." Mikey looked at Frank's shining mouth some more, thinking about how it was hot and they had to keep moving. "Get up. It's not even noon yet. If you think it's hot now, you'll like it even less in a few hours."

Frank grinned at him and got up, brushing sand off his clothes. "Just a second." He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, draping it over his shoulders and stretching. His undershirt was streaked with sweat. Mikey knew he was staring.

"Well? We going or what?"

Mikey tore his eyes away from Frank's chest and shoulders. Frank was smirking at him, but he seemed to be willing to let it go instead of teasing.

"You're going to burn," Mikey said.

"I'll heal."

Mikey shook his head and walked on. Talking wasn't appealing anymore, even with Frank. He concentrated on the link between himself and Gerard instead, listening closely where it called, the melody to the thumping beat of his footsteps, for hours and hours. They only stopped when they needed to shake sand out of their boots.

It felt like the landscape did not change, and only the louder thrumming of the link proved to Mikey that had they moved at all. But then there was a slackening in the east wind, and suddenly the air wasn't dry and exhausting and full of sand, but breathed salt and water and the life and decay of the ocean in their faces.

Frank tensed up beside Mikey. "That smells like the ocean. Where's the ocean?"

"I don't know. Close, I guess. It must be close."

"I gotta tell you, Way, this thing you have is pretty magical." With the end in sight, Frank perked up, stepping almost jauntily. Mikey thought he might start whistling at any moment. "How does it even work? Is there a homing beacon in your head or a map or what?"

Mikey giggled. "I just kind of know. It's not in my head. It's like there's a string connecting us, and all I have to do is reel it in."

He could feel his feet growing lighter by the minute. Frank had to struggle to catch up with him until the force that seemed to be carrying Mikey picked him up too and spat them both out onto a seashell-encrusted beach like an invisible counterpart to the surf.

It was low tide. The ocean had left a wide stretch of wet sand between itself and them, as smooth and empty as the desert, but promising.

Frank grabbed Mikey's hand and looked around wildly. "Where are they?"

Mikey looked up and down the line of the surf. "Frankie, look."

There were faded tire tracks running along the water where it must have reached at high tide. Mikey followed it with his eyes until it ended in a dun shape in the distance that was almost indistinguishable from the color of the sand. When he looked there, his heart thrummed. He bit his lip. "I think that's them."

Frank nodded and took off, running close to the water, leaving footprints in the wet sand. Mikey couldn't run; his legs felt both weak and heavy, but he drank most of the remaining water and headed after Frank. Just a minute later, two dark figures walked out in front of what was now unmistakably a plane, and Frank was throwing himself at them and shouting at Mikey. Mikey broke into a run, and one of the figures did, too. Then Gerard was right _there_ , hugging him.

Mikey stuck his face in Gerard's neck and mumbled, "You found us."

"You found _us_ ," Gerard mumbled back. He sounded a little teary. "Want to get out of here?"

Mikey nodded into Gerard's neck. "Is that Ray's plane?"

"Yeah," said Gerard, then paused and said carefully, "I was with him last night when you went down."

"Okay." Mikey detached himself, and they walked over to the plane, Mikey leaning on Gerard the entire time, more heavily than he needed to just because he could.

Frank was talking in between taking huge swallows of water, sounding very vehement about radioing the nearest airport and explaining to them how to get to the stranded mail. Ray was grinning at him, the comfortable smile of an old friend.

"Thanks for coming to get us," said Mikey.

Ray hugged him, and Mikey froze for a moment, startled, but then hugged back. Ray was warm which Mikey didn't really like at the moment, but he gave good hugs. Mikey extracted himself from it when he felt his eyes well up from how nice it was.

He stepped back and saw Frank watching him knowingly. Mikey blushed again and wondered if it would just always happen to him around Frank from now on, like touching Frank and being watched by Frank had rerouted all his blood through his face.

"It's a four-seater," Ray said. "We don't have to radio for help."

"We should probably radio that we were found," said Frank.

"Already done." Ray grinned. "They weren't happy about the plane."

"They're assholes," said Gerard with a scowl. 

Mikey cut him off before he got going. "Do we have to leave right this minute? I want to wash this sand off and cool down." The rhythmic humming of the surf was inviting, and the waves looked cool and friendly. "I feel like I've got sunburn all over."

Gerard shook his head. "You go ahead."

"Frank?"

Frank wrinkled his nose. "If you think you'll be less covered in sand after a swim, you're wrong. No thanks."

Mikey shrugged and pulled off his shirt without even unbuttoning it first, sighing at the touch of the cool ocean breeze on bare skin. He kicked off his boots, too, and turned his back on everyone to take off his pants.

The wet sand felt amazing on his scratched-up feet as he walked to the water, leeching out the heat of the desert with every step. A few meters away from where the most powerful waves reached, he hesitated and pulled off his shorts, too, dropping them on the ground. He felt self-conscious being watched, but he dipped his head for an instant just to get a glimpse of proof that he'd been with Frank before the water washed everything away.

"What are you waiting for?" Gerard yelled.

Mikey looked at them over his shoulder. Gerard was grinning, Ray was looking at Gerard, and Frank was watching Mikey steadily with a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.

Mikey made himself turn back toward the ocean. It lay before him like a living creature, welcoming and deceptively harmless from up close. The water lapped at his ankles gently like a warm tongue. Mikey waded in chest deep until he felt the night and day washed away by the swaying of the waves. The shallow water took him out a good distance from the shore.

Mikey took a deep breath and dived under, shaking his head underwater and feeling it fan out around his face, washing out the sand. He stayed under for a count of five and broke the surface with a gasp. He was already starting to shiver.

Mikey shook himself off on the beach, feeling vaguely ridiculous but so much less tired than before.

"I'm going to sleep forever when we get home," he told Ray as Ray handed him a blanket to dry off and turned back to prepare for the flight. Mikey rubbed it over himself quickly, feeling self-conscious, even though no one was looking at him as he dressed. Frank had turned around as soon as Mikey got out of the water. It made Mikey's stomach flutter.

Ray and Gerard were pulling their jackets back on on the other side of the plane. "You can turn around," Mikey told Frank.

"You should come stay with me when we get back," Frank said quietly and handed Mikey his shirt. "My place is closer."

Mikey looked at him steadily and shrugged the shirt on. Frank looked serious with that same grin hiding under it. "You really going to let me sleep?"

"If you really want to."

"Hmm."

Frank looked around. Ray and Gerard still couldn't see them, and Frank put his hand lightly on Mikey's jaw and leaned up to kiss him, a serious, intent kiss that made Mikey's whole body ache to get closer. He wanted to step back but couldn't, and when Frank broke the kiss, Mikey gasped. "You taste like salt," Frank murmured and licked Mikey's bottom lip.

"Okay," Mikey said hoarsely. "I'll come with you."

It was strange to fly behind the pilot. Mikey had never been a passenger in a plane, but it wasn't different in a bad way. His hands flexed on his knees during the heavy takeoff from the beach, when the chassis scraped through the sand until the wings got enough lift to send them flying north.

Frank took over the maps and radio at the front, and Mikey sat next to Gerard, watching his face. His mouth was half-open the entire flight, and Mikey thought that being able to see Gerard's reactions might be worth not being the one to take him up.

It was strange being in the air with him, too, the bond both there and not, not palpable like when both of them were on the ground but not completely absent like when only one of them was. It made Mikey want to take Gerard's hand to make sure he was there, and Gerard must've felt it, too, because his hand crept over to Mikey's mid-flight and gripped it tightly.

It wasn't even dark by the time they landed in Toulouse. Just twilight and cicadas, the smell of fuel in the air so achingly familiar after the golden desolation of the desert.  
Gerard jumped out onto the ground after Mikey like a natural, none of the stumbling rookie pilots did. Mikey had nearly fallen out of the plane the first few times he'd done it. Mikey felt pride wash over him and threw a look at Ray to see if he'd noticed.

He had. He was watching Gerard looking a little stunned, like he wasn't quite sure he was real, and smiled ruefully when he caught Mikey looking.

"I'm going to stay here with Frank," said Mikey when Gerard grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the airport, digging his heels in and hiding a smile of his own. "We need to tell them how to track down the downed plane."

"You're _tired_ ," said Gerard, worried with an edge of petulance. "They'll keep you here forever, and you'll never get home."

"I'll stay over at his and come home tomorrow." Mikey squeezed Gerard's hand. "You go home."

Gerard bit his lip, clearly wanting to say something more. Mikey stepped up close, so no one else could hear and said, "You're not going to talk me out of anything, right?"

Gerard's eyes snapped up to Mikey's. "You don't mean Frank, do you? Because I wouldn't, Mikey, you know I wouldn't."

"I do know you wouldn't." Mikey swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat and hugged Gerard. "I meant the flying, spending so much time here, the terrible hours." The ever-present possibility of not coming back.

Gerard shook his head as vehemently as was possible without butting Mikey in the chin. "You love your job. I wouldn't do that either."

"Okay." Mikey let Gerard go. Frank was waiting for him, and Ray was waiting for Gerard, and there would be time later.

* * *

The rainwater of the last few days had dried up in the July heat, and the ride back to his and Mikey's house was dusty. Gerard clung to Ray's waist on the back of the motorbike, pressing his cheek against the soft worn leather of his jacket and squeezing his eyes shut against the clouds of dust. He wished he still had the goggles.

Inside, Gerard stripped off his jacket wordlessly and dropped it on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Ray didn't make it past the doorway, standing there watching Gerard's every move, and the door still hung open behind him.

"Close the door," said Gerard. Everything was all right, and he wanted to touch. 

Ray's eyes went hot. He closed the door and locked it, too, pulling the bolt shut. Gerard grinned at him, feeling blood move more quickly under his skin. "Upstairs?"

Ray nodded and crossed the hallway in a few long strides, reaching for Gerard. Gerard laughed and stepped back quickly, keeping just out of reach. Ray caught him at the landing on the second floor, grabbed him around the waist and kissed him, missing his mouth as Gerard twisted his head away at the last minute.

"Tease," Ray whispered, licking Gerard's jaw. "I might leave."

Gerard brushed his hand over Ray's ass, and Ray shivered, breath hitching. "I don't think you will."

Ray bit down on the edge of Gerard's jaw and held his teeth there until Gerard couldn't take it anymore and moaned loudly, grabbing on to Ray's shoulders and holding him there, not knowing whether to drag him closer or push him away. "You should take me to bed now, come on," he panted.

Ray let go, finally, and leaned his forehead against the side of Gerard's head. "Which one's your bedroom?"

"On the right," Gerard breathed out. Ray pushed him back toward the door. "Other right," Gerard corrected, "my right, sorry. That one's Mikey's."

Ray turned them around and groped behind Gerard for the doorknob, cupping the back of Gerard's head, so he wouldn't knock it against the closed door. 

The door fell open when Ray pushed it, and they stumbled inside, into the grey light coming through the open shutters. Gerard finally caught his breath and twisted out of Ray's hands, raising his chin in challenge. 

Ray's smile was more tender than sharp, but Gerard's heart hammered anyway because Ray was okay with playing along, pushing Gerard back on the bed and climbing on top, heavy and big. Gerard bucked up, testing Ray's weight, trying to keep from whimpering at the sensation of being held down. "Clothes off, Ray." Gerard shoved the suspenders off Ray's shoulders and stuck his hand up Ray's shirt, trying to push it off. "Off off off, c'mon."

Ray laughed breathily and undid his buttons, clumsy but fast, skimming off his shirt so Gerard could get his hands on his chest.

"God, the way you look," Gerard mumbled and pressed his open mouth to Ray's nipple, flicking his tongue over the rough cotton of Ray's undershirt.

Ray gave a strangled moan and dropped his head, his hair brushing Gerard's face. "Me? First time I saw you, you were almost naked. Do you even know how much I thought about you?"

Gerard raised his head and caught Ray's mouth in a brief kiss. "What did you think?"

"Being with you," Ray murmured into Gerard's mouth and kissed him harder. 

"You're with me. God, I want to touch you."

Ray exhaled, chest heaving, and Gerard's mouth went dry. "Ray, clothes off, now. All of them."

"Okay, okay." Ray got off the bed, making Gerard whimper from the loss of sensation, and stripped. Gerard lifted up on one elbow to watch. Ray had muscles, and he was just big everywhere.

Ray went visibly pink when he saw Gerard watching. "You still have your clothes on. That's not fair."

Gerard undressed as fast as he could and flung himself back on the bed. "Come here," he said, looking at Ray through half-closed eyes and arching his back, showing off the way he knew people liked.

Ray slid over him instantly, dragging his hard cock over Gerard's hip and stomach, and Gerard let his thighs fall open, letting Ray in. "You've done this a lot," Ray said, running his hands over Gerard's arms and down his sides.

"Yeah. Not with a lot of people, though." Gerard rolled his hips against Ray's and moaned. 

"I wasn't worried," said Ray and sucked a kiss in the middle of Gerard's chest.

"Good." Gerard spread his thighs wider and hooked a leg over Ray's hip. "It's been so long. I want you."

"You want..." Ray dropped his hand lower, skimming his fingers down the dip of Gerard's back.

"Yes," Gerard hissed. He wanted those fingers lower. "There's, wait a second." He stretched back, reaching for the drawer in the night stand. "Hand cream."

Ray opened the jar and sniffed the contents. "Lavender?"

"I like the smell, shut up."

Ray giggled and kissed Gerard, and Gerard twined his hand in Ray's hair and kissed him back fiercely until Ray dropped the jar of cream on his chest. "Sorry, sorry," Ray whispered and scooped out some cream with two fingers, looking down at Gerard uncertainly.

Gerard bit his lip and arched up, lifting his knee, and Ray whispered, "Okay," and stroked in haltingly with one finger. It was blunt, with ragged fingernails and big knuckles. Gerard really hadn't done this in a long time, but the first touch made him remember how he liked it, what to do.

"Pull out," Gerard whispered.

Ray withdrew quickly. "What's wrong? Was that too much?"

"No, I just..." He _wasn't_ blushing. "I like it shallow for a while. I like the moment you push in. Do it again. Use two."

Ray looked stunned, pupils blown wide, like Gerard had dropped something heavy on his head, but pushed two fingers inside carefully. Gerard clenched down around them and twisted around on the sheets, trying to get used to the intrusion. "Do it again, come on," he begged, and Ray did, over and over as long as Gerard asked him, until Gerard had enough. "Okay, okay. Go deeper now, please, keep going."

Ray sank his fingers in deep, watching Gerard's face carefully. Gerard closed his eyes because it was too much, Ray watching him and Ray's body on top of him and Ray's fingers inside him. "One more," Gerard whispered, and Ray added another finger. The stretch burned, and Gerard felt sweat bead on his forehead. "You can, now."

Ray kissed Gerard again, and this time Gerard opened his eyes for it, sliding his tongue into Ray's mouth and watching Ray's expressions change.

Ray dropped his head on Gerard's shoulder, peppering kisses there, and sank inside Gerard inch by inch. Gerard clutched at Ray's back, splaying his fingers, and bore down against the stretch. "Jesus," Ray whispered.

Gerard laughed and arched his back, trying to find a good angle and sink down further onto Ray's cock. "Try being in my place. God."

"I will," Ray groaned. "Gerard, I can't--" He thrust and suddenly slid in completely, hitting the right spot on the first stroke, and pleasure ran up Gerard's spine in a white-hot jolt of electricity. He threw his head back on the pillow and grabbed onto the edge of the mattress for leverage, urging Ray on, and Ray fucked him just like Gerard wanted, deep and even, pausing on every downstroke, so Gerard could feel Ray hard inside him. 

It felt like being taken, owned, finally after so long, and Gerard urged him on, talking, begging for Ray to come inside him until Ray thrust fast and uneven and shot inside Gerard with long, hot pulses. Ray's arms buckled, and he landed on top of Gerard, knocking the breath out of him. Gerard gasped and rubbed his cock on Ray's stomach. He needed to come so badly it almost hurt.

Ray started to pull out, and Gerard squeezed his thighs harder around Ray's hips. "No, don't, don't--"

"I want to try something," Ray said and ran a finger down Gerard's cheek. "Can I?"

Gerard stroked his cock and said, "Okay," and Ray kissed him and pulled out. Gerard breathed through it, trying to adjust to the emptiness, and then he cried out because that was Ray's mouth on his cock, tentative but eager. Ray ran his tongue up from the base, slow and lush, and closed his lips around the tip. Gerard came with no warning, pushing up into Ray's hot mouth.

Ray wiped his face on the edge of the sheet and collapsed next to Gerard, throwing an arm around his chest. Gerard ran a finger along the lines of his face, stroking gently around the patch. 

Ray shivered. "I can't show you now."

Gerard kissed the edge of it. "You don't have to." He patted Ray's shoulders blearily and closed his eyes. He felt good, utterly suffused with warm pleasure. "I'm probably going to stick to you," he rasped and cleared his throat.

"That's okay," Ray mumbled into Gerard's neck. "As long as I don't have to move."

Gerard laughed and stretched under Ray. His skin was sensitized, sparking pleasantly whenever he moved. "Mmm. I'm fine with that."

Ray took a deep breath and was quiet. Gerard poked him in the shoulder. "What's eating you?"

"You seemed to know what you liked. What you wanted."

"Oh," said Gerard with satisfaction and ran his fingers through Ray's hair idly. "Yes." Ray was quiet again, and Gerard added, "Have _you_ done this at all before?"

Gerard felt Ray's mouth twitch against his shoulder. "Was it obvious?"

"No!"

Ray made that high-pitched laugh that Gerard found so endearing and stroked Gerard's side. "I haven't with a man."

Gerard laughed quietly. "France is the land of debauchery, it seems. Though I suppose I came here young."

Ray kissed the side of Gerard's neck. "Did you meet someone here, too?"

"I have now," Gerard whispered and tugged Ray up by his hair to kiss him.

In the morning, Gerard woke from the flood of sunlight coming through the still-open shutters. There was just a sheet covering him, the blanket gone somewhere, but the light was warm enough, so even that was stifling. He threw the sheet off, stretching in the sunbeam like a cat. 

His muscles were sore, and he wanted to make them even more so, but he was in bed alone. That was momentarily alarming, but then he heard a rustling. Gerard blinked the sleep from his eyes and turned his head in the direction of the noise, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.

Ray was by the door, completely dressed and shrugging on his jacket. His hair was wild, and his trousers were a spiderweb of wrinkles, but he looked so appealing Gerard's dick twitched.

"I really like the jacket, by the way," said Gerard, and he laughed when Ray jumped. "Were you going to sneak out?"

Ray dragged his gaze up Gerard's body, and Gerard dropped his hand down to his belly, hiding a smile as Ray crossed the room to him like he was being reeled in. "I didn't want to overstay my welcome. Mikey--"

"Mikey's not coming back for a while." Gerard reached up and touched Ray's side. "You should come back to bed."

Ray leaned over him and gave him a long, lingering kiss. The edges of the jacket brushed Gerard's chest, buckles and buttons cold against his skin, and Gerard grabbed Ray by the jacket and pulled him down. "I love the jacket."

"Gerard, what are you--" Ray made a noise deep in his throat and got a knee up on the bed, kissing Gerard harder.

Gerard scrabbled at Ray's fly. "Want you."

Ray moaned helplessly into Gerard's mouth and let Gerard open his trousers and get his dick out of his shorts. It was already hard when Gerard wrapped his hand around it, leaking into Gerard's palm, and Gerard just _wanted_ it, wanted it inside him right now.

"You have to fuck me again," Gerard breathed. "Let me up. Let me turn over."

Ray looked stunned but backed off to let Gerard turn over. He drew in a sharp breath when Gerard folded his arms and put his head down, pushing his ass up into Ray's hands. "Jesus," Ray said quietly. "God. I have my fucking clothes on, Gerard, and you're--"

"Yeah," Gerard said, turning his head to look at Ray. "Do it like that, all at once, come on."

Ray scrambled for the jar of hand cream and slicked up. Gerard breathed in and out evenly, anticipating the moment when Ray would push in, and then he _did_ in one smooth movement, shoving Gerard's face into the pillow.

Gerard arched his back and pushed against Ray, and Ray made a noise like he was fucking _surprised_ again at Gerard, at what was happening. "Like that?" he asked, starting to thrust.

"Uhhhh," Gerard moaned. "Yeah, like that, just like that, Ray, please don't stop, don't stop."

Ray splayed his hands wide and pulled Gerard in by the hips, shoving deep and hard inside, over and over. The fabric of Ray's trousers was rough on Gerard's skin, nearly chafing, and Gerard grabbed his cock and jerked it thinking about how red his skin would be, how it would hurt to sit down.

Ray moaned and covered Gerard's hand with his own, bending over Gerard and thrusting harder and faster in sync with his hand on Gerard's cock. Gerard felt it build in his spine all the way down his legs and shot on Ray's hand and the ruined sheets, clenching around Ray. Ray groaned and came, slumping over him, mouth wet on Gerard's back.

Gerard's knees finally gave out, and he collapsed on the bed, still shivering. "Holy mother of..."

Ray rolled off, pulling out. Gerard moved experimentally. He felt wet. Stretched.

"Okay?" Ray asked faintly.

"More than." Gerard wriggled around a little more. Wet, stretched, sore. He looked forward to not getting up, just staying in bed all day and feeling the ache in his muscles. He'd run his hands over his body and remember.

Ray moved up the bed, dragging his wet mouth up Gerard's body, and settled in next to him. Gerard rolled onto his side to face him. Ray's eyes were dark, and his mouth was soft, and there was a slowly fading flush on his face and neck.

His fly was still undone, dick shiny with slick, but Ray didn't move to clean up. He was looking at Gerard so tenderly Gerard's heart skipped a beat. He slowly reached out and touched his finger to the hollow of Ray's throat where buttons came undone and his shirt fell open and felt Ray's throat flutter at the touch.

"You..." Ray whispered. "You're so..." He ran his hand down Gerard's side and over his wet cock, gently, but Gerard hissed and bit his lip from how sensitive it was. Ray's eyes went even darker at that, and Gerard's hips jerked, pushing into his hand involuntarily.

Gerard dragged his finger lower, raking it through the hair curling up from the collar of the shirt. "I'd like you to stay," he said quietly.

Ray's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "I have to work this afternoon."

"Then I'd like you to come back when you're done."

Ray kissed him, and Gerard made a quiet satisfied noise into his mouth and then let him go.

"Really, Ray. Come to dinner."

Ray tucked a strand of hair behind Gerard's ear and smiled. "I promise."

"And stay the night," said Gerard, catching Ray's finger lightly with his teeth.

Ray's breath caught. "Sure. If, you know, nothing more interesting comes up."

Gerard giggled and shoved Ray off. Ray laughed and got up, tucking and straightening his clothes. "You're messy," Gerard commented.

"And whose fault is that?" Ray buttoned his jacket and brushed at his fly. "Look at you, you're no better."

Gerard looked down at himself. "True," he said with satisfaction.

Ray grinned. "I'm going."

Gerard jumped off the bed and kissed Ray, wrapping his arms around him and getting up on his toes to kiss him, pressing against him full-body.

Ray dropped his hands to the curve of Gerard's ass and kissed his mouth and his neck and his shoulder and then broke off, burying his face in Gerard's neck. "How do you _do_ that?"

Gerard hid a smile by Ray's temple. "Natural talent. Weren't you leaving?"

Ray kissed Gerard again, drawing his hands up to Gerard's shoulder blades and holding him gently. "Leaving now. I'll be back."

"Okay." Gerard stepped back and sat down on the bed. Ray shot him another smile, took a deep breath, and went out the door.

Gerard fell back on the bed, biting his lip, so he wouldn't smile at the ceiling like an idiot. He lay in bed for a while, brushing his hands over his body, idly stroking his nipples and belly, tired enough not to want anything more. He half-drifted off until the sound of the front door slamming woke him up. Mikey was home and, from the sound of low voices and laughter, so was Frank.

A minute later, Mikey knocked on Gerard's door. "Are you decent?"

Gerard looked down at himself. "Not even close."

Mikey sighed, sounding so young and put-upon that Gerard was transported ten years into the past, when everything was simpler and much harder. "Well, get decent. We're having lunch outside."

Gerard got out of bed, aching all over, and caught a glimpse of himself, messy and marked-up, in the mirror. He paused in front of it, looking and thumbing his nipple and watching his face flush. He really needed a wash.

A door banged downstairs, and Gerard grabbed his undershirt from the floor and balled it up, pouring some water from the glass on the nightstand over it, scrubbing roughly at his belly and his thighs. That would have to do.

Frank and Mikey were in the kitchen, and Frank was putting things into the picnic basket that was still barely unpacked from two days before. Mikey was sitting with his knees hugged to his chest, braced against the edge of the kitchen table. He was watching Frank with a smile hiding in every line of his face, in the set of his jaw and the softness of his eyes. Gerard lurked in the doorway, watching him and watching as Frank looked up at Mikey and went over to give him a kiss, sliding his hands into Mikey's hair and kissing him until Mikey's arms came up to Frank's waist.

Gerard waited until they separated to come into the kitchen. "Hey, Frank."

Frank went red, and Gerard gave him his most charming smile. "Mikey said we were having lunch outside?"

"On the hillside."

"That's a long walk."

"It's five minutes."

"Ten. And it's uphill."

"I like the view."

Gerard liked the view, too. It was romantic, in that way where he both wanted to kiss there and write poetry. He eyed Mikey, who was hugging his knees again and looking down at the table, but the hidden smile was still there. "Are you sure you want me to come?"

Mikey looked up at that, the smile overwritten by a pitying look Gerard saw a lot immediately before being informed he was being an idiot.

"Don't be stupid," said Frank.

"Right on schedule," Gerard said under his breath. Mikey stuck his tongue out at him, and Gerard ruffled his hair, pressing hard with his knuckles until Mikey swatted him away.

"You should really cut your talons, Mikes," said Gerard and ducked another swat, dancing away to the other side of the table. "Meet you up there? Bring me sandwiches. I'm starving."

It didn't take ten minutes for Gerard to climb up to the same spot where they'd picnicked. He found it by the cigarette butts scattered on the ground. He collected them carefully in his pocket and lay down in the flattened patch of grass. He stared up at the sky, which was flawlessly blue, idly listening for Mikey and Frank's approach.

He heard them first as Frank's bright giggle and Mikey's quieter laugh and then quiet conversation and rustle of grass. Then Mikey collapsed next to him, knocking his forehead against Gerard's shoulder. Frank sat down on Mikey's other side and passed them both sandwiches. Gerard demolished two, suddenly ravenous, and fell back onto the grass.

He let his hand creep towards Mikey's and hooked a finger around Mikey's pinkie, drifting off again halfway between sleep and wakefulness, sky and ground, while Mikey and Frank spoke in quiet tender voices and even quieter pauses, sounds that he shouldn't have overheard but that they trusted him with anyway.

After a while Frank stood up and a moment later dropped to his knees by Gerard's head, his face taking up most of Gerard's field of view.

"Frankie," said Gerard, pleased but confused. "What's up?"

Frank smiled, and his eyes crinkled happily. "Just wanted to say thanks before I left." He leaned in and pecked Gerard on the cheek, then jumped up and ran down the hill, trailing his hand along the tall grasses, which rustled quietly in response.

Gerard blinked up at the sky. "What was that for?" he asked Mikey.

Mikey hooked another finger around Gerard's and inched closer to him. "For saving our lives, dummy. For this. For being a good friend."

Gerard's eyes suddenly felt hot. The sky was the same even blue above. "I thought you didn't want to talk about Frank because you were ashamed."

Mikey huffed, exasperated but fond. "There's no one who matters that I could have learned that from."

"Ray is coming over soon," Gerard said. He needed to wipe his eyes, but not quite yet. "He's going to stay the night. In my room, this time."

"Good," said Mikey. "I like Ray." He tugged Gerard up, and they sat, leaning on each other. "Stop looking up. There's nothing up there."

Gerard looked straight ahead obediently, where the familiar sight of the city and the fields beyond stretched out to dizzying depths. "That's not any easier to see." Eternity was in every direction.

Mikey squeezed his hand. "It gets easier with practice."

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned above, this story started with [a picture](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m50a0cBUCz1qiub7ho1_1280.jpg) of Mikey in an aviator helmet. Later I discovered that he owns [more than one](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9sl3qPyGb1r0o6m0o1_500.jpg). I hope this provides helpful visuals. 
> 
> While I was writing this, I listened a lot to [Tenderness](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75WDHVXUgWc), an old Soviet song about the first flight in outer space.


End file.
